


Czernobog

by querxes



Series: Czernobog [1]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Animal Death, Assassins & Hitmen, Blood and Violence, Catholicism, Child Exploitation, F/F, Gen, Gun Violence, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Irish Jack Kelly, Jewish David Jacobs, Judaism, Kidnapping, Latino Jack Kelly, M/M, Mild Language, Past Child Abuse, Polish David Jacobs, Swearing, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24671734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/querxes/pseuds/querxes
Summary: “It’s not what you did, my nephews,” Snyder let go of his grip on the front of Oscar’s shirt. “It’s who you did it to.” He stepped back, rubbing his temples in order to soothe the searing headache splitting open his head.Oscar reared back in surprise and anger. “Who? You mean that fuckin’ coward?”Snyder moved back behind the counter, heaving a tired sigh. He poured himself a drink. “That coward,” he took a shot, then stared the brothers straight in the eye. “...is David Jacobs.”After five years of his separation from the mafia, ex-assassin David Jacobs is forced to reinvent himself for a second time in order to take back what he loves.
Relationships: (past) Crutchie/David Jacobs, David Jacobs/Jack Kelly, Sarah Jacobs/Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins
Series: Czernobog [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1807120
Comments: 185
Kudos: 125





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! My name is Madi. I'd like to thank you for clicking on this fic! This is the first part of my John Wick alternate universe. You do NOT have to have seen John Wick to read this, you will not need any prior knowledge of the mafia to understand. 
> 
> Specific warnings for each chapter will always be listed in the end notes. Thank you!

When Davey woke up, he first thing he did was feel the empty space next to him in the bed.

The second thing he did was grab the knife hidden under the mattress.

Swiftly, silently, he crossed the room and checked every room upstairs, only to come up with nothing. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, listening hard for any kind of sound. There was nothing. The television wasn't playing, the water wasn't running, there was no clinking of spoons against dishes, there were no stools scraping against the hardwood floor. His heart was in his throat by the time he made it downstairs and confirmed the empty kitchen and living room. But when he looked into the back porch, he saw the silhouette of a man gently stroking paint onto a canvas exploding with color.

Nothing was wrong. Jack was painting. Early, earlier than usual. Davey allowed the tension in his shoulders to gently release. He set the knife down on the side table next to the porch doors and smiled gently when the man turned to him. His hands were stained with a viridescent green paint, the tiny smudge of it trailing under his eyebrow telling Davey that he had scratched at his face gently, likely without even realizing the paint was on his hands in the first place.

“Really, Jackie, it’s six in the morning and you’re already covered in paint?” He laughed. Jack grinned widely, smiling brightly at him despite the early morning.

“Hey, I wore my smock today, ‘specially after what happened last week,” Jack cracked back at him and turned back to his painting. He leaned into Davey’s arms as they were wrapped around his waist.

“What’re you doing up so early? It’s six o’clock, you never drag yourself out of bed at least before seven-thirty,” Davey laughed again when Jack sarcastically nudged him with his head.

Jack sighed, letting a relaxed smile crinkle his eyes slightly. “I’m just excited for the beach today, I guess,” he said. “Can’t wait to see you slather up the sunscreen so you don’t burn this time.”

“Was that supposed to lead into an inappropriate comment, Mr. Jacobs-Kelly?” Davey shot back, brushing a hand over Jack's shoulders and smirking as he sunk back into one of the wicker chairs, tasting the crisp morning air in the back of his throat.

“Only if you make it so, Mr. Jacobs-Kelly,” Jack gave him a side-eyed wink and focused back on his painting. The vibrant oranges, yellows, and greens of Jack's artwork stood out against the muted blue sky behind the screened windows and the tall, pine-green trees. They stayed in their positions for quite some time, Davey enjoying watching the calming, repetitive motions of the brush between his husband’s fingers. The swirling of the paint on the canvas was almost hypnotic, lulling Davey into a quiet trance. He glanced back up to Jack's face, taking in the look of lazy concentration and the tuft of dark brown hair falling in front of his dark eyes like a curtain. The corners of Davey's lips quirked upward when Jack absentmindedly blew the curls out of his face.

About fifteen minutes later, Davey sighed and got up, cracking his back slightly before giving Jack a quick peck on the cheek and heading back through the house's doors. He smoothly picked up the knife and headed to bring it back upstairs and put it under the bed. "I left the Keurig on for you," Jack called behind him, and the day started.

The beach was peacefully quiet when they arrived. It was leaning on the cooler side of the summer and the sun hid behind the clouds for most of the day, but it was perfect for them. The sky was still that muted color that Davey loved and the wind was calm and quiet. The beach was a place Davey had never really enjoyed, appreciated or ever really went to before Jack was in his life, but it made Jack happy to go. Davey would do anything to keep Jack happy, so he agreed over and over and found he didn’t hate the beach as much as he thought he would.

It was worth it to see Jack chase after the seagulls like a child and to watch him turn back and give Davey this bright, life-giving, ecstatic smile that he gave no one else but Davey. And he would survive every single drop of freezing water just to hear Jack’s ringing laugh when he’d shiver and cuss under his breath. It was made up for when he got to push Jack into the water and laugh as he got dragged down with him.

After spending too long in the freezing water, they had both dragged themselves shivering and shaking back to the shore, laughing and stumbling like madmen until they reached their towels. The rest of the day passed by in a beautiful, achingly domestic fashion, and they curled up with books and sketchbooks next to each other in the cool sand, stopping for lunch on the boulevard when they got hungry without having to wait in any lines. As they sat back down in the sand, Davey quietly pulled out his phone to record Jack drawing the silhouette of a woman with long, flowing hair and eyes that crinkled in laughter in a way that mirrored Jack's.

Jack looked up once he noticed the camera pointed in his direction. “What’re you doing, Davey?” He asked, eyes crinkling in mirth.

“Admiring you,” Davey crooned back, voice sickly sweet and full of love. Jack smiled, wrapping a charcoal-covered hand around Davey's neck. They gazed into each other's eyes, mirroring each other with matching looks of pure bliss, and Jack pulled Davey in for a kiss full of teeth and slow jubilation.

On the way home from the beach, Jack had asked to stop at the small local shop across from the gas station. Davey reasoned that he could fill up their low gas tank while he waited for Jack to finish, so they parted ways. Just as Davey was finishing up filling his tank, an expensive-looking car whipped into one of the gas pumps across from him. Music was blaring from the speakers, playing over the sound of loud and rough laughter. Several boisterous men popped out of the car, speaking in rapidfire German. One went to pump the car with gas and a couple of others went into the convenience store. One of the men, likely leaning towards the age of a teenager, noticed Davey’s car and began sauntering over to the hood of it. Davey tensed slightly as he continued to finish paying over the electronic machine.

“What a beauty,” the kid said, switching over to English as he ran a finger across the hood of the mustang. “She a ‘70?” He asked.

Davey eyed him over before answering. “‘69, actually.” He nodded to the boy before getting into the car.

Instead of backing out of the way and leaving, the kid sauntered over to the rolled-down window on the passenger side and leaned down to talk to Davey. He cracked a smile. “How much?”

This took Davey by surprise. He wavered for a few seconds before asking, “What?”

The kid rolled his eyes. “How much for the car?” He exaggerated, patting the hood.

“Sorry, the car’s not for sale,” Davey said, revving up the engine.

The kid’s face hardened. He hummed. Then, in German, he smiled and said, _“Everything’s got a price, bitch.”_

Davey froze, grimaced, and threw back in German, _“Not this bitch.”_ The kid’s face paled, then reddened in anger. Another boy walked over, presumably his brother by the way he looked, and he pulled him away from the open window, whispering in his ear.

Another man took the kid’s place in the open window, leaned down, and smiled. “You go on an’ have a good day, kid.” He said to Davey, then stepped back. Davey frowned before he rolled up the window as fast as he could. He threw a look into his rearview mirror, locking eyes with the pair of angry-looking boys, then revved the engine and sped out of the station, suspicion lighting up the hairs on the back of his neck.

The incident left his mind as soon as Jack threw the bags into the backseat of the car and leaned over to kiss him from the passenger’s seat.

The day ended on a perfect note. They came home tired and sore (and in Davey’s case, just a little sunburnt on his back despite the sun hardly being out all day) and feeling unbelievably at the top of the world, but in a quiet way. They collapsed on the couch after they had showered, worn down and content. Jack traced patterns absentmindedly on Davey's chest, eyes flickering closed, and Davey thought this was the perfect end to a perfect day. Then, Jack spoke up from where his head was crooked in Davey’s shoulder.

“So, you ever heard of this Cocker Spaniel rescue in the city?” Jack asked, slowly lifting his head up.

Instantly, Davey craned his neck down, eyes all-knowing and challenging. He sighed, a wry smile stretching across his face. “Jack, tell me you didn’t get a dog,” he warned, and his husband suddenly looked down at the floor, shuffling his foot on the ottoman and fiddling with the ring on his left hand. Those were the habits he repeated when he was guilty of something. Jack was an excellent liar by himself, he was incredibly charming and got his own way when he truly wanted it, but he struggled with holding any information from Davey. It was endearing, something that Davey would never admit to Jack out loud. 

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Davey’s gentle demand. “It may—or may not, hey, don’t gimme that look!—be here tonight?” He raised the end of his sentence into a question, noticing the look on Davey’s face.

Davey groaned. “Jack, it’s like six o’clock at night, what do you mean by ‘tonight’? When were you gonna tell me?”

“What would be the fun in breaking the news that we’re gonna be new parents to you at the beach?" Then, Jack's voice grew sultry. "Why not wait for the quiet moments afterward, like this?” He swung a leg around and plopped down on Davey's lap, pulling Davey into a warm, open-mouthed kiss. 

Desire flickered in Davey's stomach and he leaned into it, bringing his hands up to the sides of Jack's face. Jack deepened it, and Davey moaned slightly, the vibrations in his own throat enough to snap him back to his own senses. He pulled back from the kiss, gently pushing Jack's face away from his. “I hope to God you’ll actually tell me more than minutes before we're about to get an actual child,” Davey snorted. jack rolled his eyes, and Davey continued. “What made you want to get a dog?”

Jack shrugged, sitting back slightly. “Well, I went on the page because of that story with the crazy woman choking her dog who called the police on that guy, you remember that one? Well, the article had a link to the rescue, and the puppies just kinda reminded me of myself, y’know? They were just lookin’ for a home, some of ‘em were abandoned, and I figured we got enough space for a dog.” He paused, looking down. “They’re good with kids, too. I know we’re getting more serious about starting a family, so I think this'll be a good first addition.”

Davey sat back, contemplating it with a soft expression on his face. “This is the perfect first addition.” He smiled gently, then brought his hands back up to Jack's face and pulled him into a soft kiss. “I love you.”

Jack smiled, eyes flicking open. “I love you too.”

The doorbell rang. They both shot up in their seats, almost comically surprised. “When you said “tonight,” you meant now?!” Davey cried, and they both moved over to the door as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry, alright?” Jack said, “Don’t give me that, I know you’re not really mad at me!” They both stopped in front of the door, pausing to look at each other. “This is it.”

“This is it,” Davey repeated, and he opened the door.

Mere moments later, they were both sitting on the floor in front of the now closed door in front of a tiny crate and set of tiny paws and eyes peeking out at them. Jack was transfixed with the little puppy as soon as he opened up the kennel and scooped him into his arms, laughing softly as the ball of fluff sniffed at his face and wriggled around in his hands. Davey sat next to them, eyes wide and shimmering, and he leaned into his husband’s side to pet the small dog’s head, who sniffed at his hand and started to lick and nip at his fingers gently. Jack laid the puppy in their laps and laughed, tears cascading down his cheeks.

“What’s his name, history buff?” Jack asked, laughing gently at the look on Davey’s face.

Davey paused, thinking for a moment. “Teddy?” The puppy looked like a classic teddy bear with the golden fur and big, black eyes. He wriggled around in their laps, sniffing at their cotton tee shirts and snuffling noisily.

Jack laughed at the choice. “Lemme guess, after Teddy Roosevelt? That’s perfect,” he concluded, and he scooched across the floor and grabbed the bags from the store that he dropped on the ground earlier. “Guess I was lucky you didn’t ask why I needed to go shopping,” he said, and he pulled out a variety of different toys, a tiny puppy bed, pee pads, and a box of kibble.

They spent the rest of the evening playing with their new member of the family, and when they were getting ready to go to bed, Jack instantly pleaded to let Teddy sleep with them on the bed.

“Jack, no,” Davey laughed. Suddenly, two sets of puppy-dog eyes turned toward him.

“Please, baby?” Jack pleaded. “Just for one night!”

“You know, one night turns into two and suddenly we have a full-grown dog wedging himself between us in the middle of the night.”

“Aw, but look at this cute face!” Jack smudged up the puppy’s tiny face and sprinkled kisses on the top of Teddy’s head.

“Which one?” Jack nudged him gently, and Davey sighed. “Fine, okay, okay,” he relented, but turned serious when he saw the look of excitement light up on Jack’s face. “But only for tonight! You did not waste money on a puppy bed just for him to not use it!” Jack nodded quickly, then scooped Teddy up and placed him on the bed. Davey leaned over to turn off the bedside lamp and they kissed each other goodnight, their new baby settled in between their legs.

* * *

Teddy suddenly started barking like mad in the middle of the night, licking Davey and Jack’s faces and whining loudly. They both jolted and Jack sat up worriedly, but Davey just rolled out of bed. “He probably needs to go outside,” Davey reasoned. “I’ll take him out real quick. Go back to sleep,” he kissed Jack on the side of his mouth quickly and followed the dog out of the room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Davey made it down the stairs but stopped when he noticed the silhouette of a person appear in the corner of his vision, only for something to smash into the back of his head before he could react. Davey was knocked to the ground with a loud groan, but he didn’t get the chance to blink away the stars in his vision before the hard object—a lead pipe—smashed into his side. Toward his head, a steel-toed boot came and smashed him in the jaw. Davey bit his tongue _hard_ , and the familiar taste of iron instantly filled his mouth. The boot reeled back and stomped on his nose, blood spurting instantly onto the wooden floorboards.

The blinding pain and the shock was almost too much to handle. Davey curled in on himself and moaned loudly, eyes filling with involuntary tears. Glass shattered overhead. Teddy cried and barked loudly, scratching around on the floor. Through the painful haze, Davey heard panicked shouts and footsteps descending from the top of the stairs.

“Hey!” Jack shouted, stomping down the stairs and running at the men with the knife Davey kept under the bed, but one of the men grabbed it from his hands and forced him to the ground. “Get your fuckin’ hands off me! _Davey!”_ He shouted again, struggling against the knee pressed into his back and the hands around his wrists.

“Aw, _Davey,_ that’s cute!” One of the men laughed, then reeled back his boot and smashed it into Davey’s head again. His thoughts instantly scattered and abandoned him on the ground, and all he could do was watch detachedly as one of the boys laughed even harder.

“Oh, boys, I think Morris likes this one! What, you think he’s cute, dontcha?” The howling from Jack became too loud for his vibrating head and Davey closed his eyes. “Why don’t we keep ‘em for ya? Teach this fuckin’ fairy a lesson?” A rough hand yanked on Davey’s hair, forcing his head up and his eyes open. “When you don’t take care of your shit, someone else’s bound to take it, ain’t that right, _Davey?”_ The man above him pulled off the cloth covering his face, revealing the kid from the gas station earlier that morning. He smiled cruelly, leaned back, and spat directly in Davey’s eyes.

“Find those car keys! And someone shut that fuckin’ dog up,” A voice said distantly. The sharp barking was cut off by a startled whine. Davey’s world dissolved into screaming and he was left on the cold floor, alone, before he was dragged down into unconsciousness.

* * *

Davey woke up to the sun shining in his face from the window, but he regretted opening his eyes. He would keep them shut forever if he never saw that what was staring back at him were the lifeless eyes of his puppy, blond coat soaked with blood and body no longer warm to the touch. He hesitantly brought a hand up to touch the dog, and once he did he just dragged the tiny body closer to his and cried into the fur.

When Davey finally lifted his head, he saw the trail of blood Teddy had left on the floor from the puppy dragging himself over to him. All of the events of last night came back in a flash, and Davey turned over and vomited all over the kitchen carpet.

Ten minutes later, he had found a small box to place his puppy’s dead-cold body in. He placed it in the hastily-dug hole under the willow tree in the yard. Twenty minutes later, he was scrubbing the blood off the floor and bagging up the broken glass with tears in his eyes that grew into an enraged glare. David stood up, washed the blood off his hands and his nose, and went to the bus stop with a gun hidden in his pocket and the blood stains still on his shirt.

Jack was gone. 

David was going to get him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Animal death/murder, kidnapping, blood, vomit, homophobic slurs, language
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David prepares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is the use of the Polish language in a phrase (it was taken from a Polish Wikipedia page with lists of translations of the same phrase, but please tell me if it needs to be fixed!) The Polish phrase is compared to the English and Latin versions in the chapter right away and in varying versions throughout the chapter, so you will understand what it means.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings are in the end notes.

The day was supposed to be simple.

It was pleasantly slow for Race starting out, no major jobs or paperwork in the masses to fill out, so he just picked and chose what he wanted to do. His employees milled around to finish up the simple jobs of the day, and everyone enjoyed the quiet, except for possibly Spot. He always enjoyed getting his hands dirty most of the time, but the past few days had been extremely chaotic for all of them. Chances are, he was enjoying the slow day as much as the rest of them. 

Race realized that he may have concluded that the day would be peaceful far too early when the Delancey brothers entered their shop.

“Hey boys, we gotta job for ya! We need all new plates and papers for this beauty. Think you can manage that?” Race internally cringed when he heard the voice that shouted. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed the car the man was referring to.

He recognized that make, that model. 

1969 Ford Mustang Coupe, Charcoal Grey.

Race had been the one to turn that car into what it was now. He had been inside and out of that car, guts spilled out and replaced to be the perfect running model, the best of the brand, no better damn car out there. It belonged to someone he knew a long time ago, someone he once called a friend and still dared to, even now. 

“Where did you get that car?” He suddenly asked, placing down his cigar and stepping forward.

Oscar laughed nastily. “Why all the questions? Just get us the plates, and we’ll be on our way. We own you, remember? So hurry it up.” Filled with rage, Race stepped even closer, hands clenched into fists.

“Listen, pal, I deal witcha uncle, not you. Didn’t your babysitter teach you that?” Wiesel shot a withering glare at him from behind the Delancey brothers, but said nothing in his defense. 

Once he noticed the commotion, Spot stood up from the car he was working on. He wiped the grease off of his hands onto his shop apron and made his way to Race’s side, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s the problem here, gents?” He asked, staring neutrally at the group of men. He obviously recognized the car after a few beats, because he visibly tensed up next to Race.

“Sean, tell your boy-toy to get a move on with these papers. We don’t got all day, ‘specially when we got company waiting on us outside.” Oscar grinned and nudged his brother, who simply stood and stared at the ground. Both Spot and Race froze.

Race spoke first. “The fuck d’ya mean by that?” He swallowed the bile in his throat. “The owner of the car?” He didn’t believe it, but he had to say it.

Oscar laughed. “Nah, man, but Morris here liked his little boyfriend, so I thought why the hell not? Fucked up his dog, too.”

Race stepped back quickly, shocked into silence. _His little boyfriend._ That meant—

Jesus Christ. He collapsed onto one of the shop stools behind him.

Spot, however, had the opposite reaction. He burst into crazed laughter, teeth flashing dangerously. “You kidnapped his husband and fucked up his dog?” The brothers, visibly shocked at his reaction, started to laugh along with him, but Oscar was cut off with a swift uppercut to the stomach and Morris with a punch in the mouth. They both stumbled back, but the crew behind him reared up and advanced toward Spot. One of them lifted his gun toward Spot’s forehead.

Race stood up and pulled Spot back, placing himself between them. Spot growled behind him, desperately itching for a full-on brawl, but Race ignored him. “Oh, so you’s gonna come into _our_ shop and pull a gun on us?! Do it! Shoot me then!” Race jumped forward and held the barrel to his own head, egging the man on. "Shoot us both while you're at it!" Wiesel finally intervened and pulled the gun away from Race's head, smacking the kid holding the gun upside the head.

Spot roared, “That’s _enough!_ Get the fuck out of our shop!”

Wiesel stepped forward menacingly. “You’ll be finished once Snyder hears about this,” he warned. 

Race laughed. “Trust me, his fuckin’ nephews are gonna be the ones that are finished by the time this is over,” he said. “Now get the fuck out of our shop. Right now, get out!” 

Guilt pooled in Race’s stomach when he heard the trucks pull away, knowing full well who was trapped in the back of one. Spot finally stepped back up next to him, clasping his shoulder tightly. “There was nothin’ we could do. You saw how many of ‘em were there, there was no way we were getting Kelly out by ourselves.” He sighed deeply. “Besides, you know who’s comin’ after him.” That didn’t quell his anxiety in the slightest. 

They waited in tense silence for the day to advance after sending everyone home early. The shop was completely empty by afternoon, and Race and Spot tried to distract themselves by fiddling with things that didn’t need fixing or driving out fixed cars into the parking lot. They both stopped their busy work when they saw the figure walk into their shop, the man clearly not bothering to hide the pain in his side. His dark hair was mussed and falling into his eyes, but the stony look was evident even now.

Five years of retirement had changed David Jacobs, mostly because Race had never seen him injured like he was now, quite literally ever. His voice came out broken, and twisted, something wrecked.

“Antonio, Sean.”

David looked like hell, nose crooked and lip split and jacket opened up to reveal a bloodstained shirt. The same man, years ago, would have never made the mistake of stepping in public looking like that. He probably never would've reached the point of injury he was at now in his last years. Race figured that retirement had left him a little rusty. He could only hope that it wouldn’t last for very long, for everyone’s sake.

Race's head had never ached more in his life. “David.” The man did not move from where he stood. The questions didn’t have to be asked. “They were here.”

Spot stepped out from his place behind Race’s shoulder, stepping slowly toward the man. “I soaked ‘em, we told ‘em to get the fuck out of our shop.”

“They’re the Delancey brothers,” Race added on. “Snyder’s nephews. Oscar told us about Jack.” David visibly tensed. Again, something he never would’ve done before. “Dave, they—”

David cut him off. “They had the car?”

Race sighed. “They did.” He paused, restraining himself from reaching out a comforting hand. He kept his arms at his sides, the chasm of five years between them. “Just remember, you go after them, you’re after all of ‘em.” 

David didn’t react to the information. Race and Spot waited in a small stretch of silence with bated breath before David finally spoke up.

“Racer, Spot, I’m going to have to ask you for a favor.”

Race smiled wryly. “Whatever ya need, pal.”

* * *

The black Dodge Challenger flashed its lights twice at the men in the garage, spun its tires, then fired down the deserted back road at an illegal speed.

“Kelly really did a number on their boychik,” Race said after the car had disappeared out of their sight. “I’ve never seen him express any kind of emotion like that before. ”

Spot spat on the ground, shaking his head angrily. “He’ll be dead if he doesn’t get his act together. Jesus, why couldn’t they just give those kids a damn break?”

“Yeah,” Race agreed, leaning back and placing his cigar back in his mouth. He closed his eyes. “It’s the least they fuckin’ deserve.”

* * *

The sun had started to set by the time the phone rang. Spot had disappeared somewhere in the shop, leaving Race to take the dreaded call. He sat down, took in a deep breath, and picked up the telephone. “Antonio speaking.”

 _"Higgins.”_ The voice on the other end was cold and hard. 

Race swallowed. “Hey, boss.”

 _"I heard your—”_ Snyder paused for the lack of a better word, _“partner, struck my nephews this morning.”_

“He did.” Spot came back around one of the corners and Race gave him a look, to which he nodded slowly and dragged over one of the shop stools.

_“May I ask why?”_

Race paused. “Because, uh, sir, they stole David Jacobs’ car, killed his dog, and, uh—kidnapped his husband. Jack Kelly.”

There was silence on the other end. _"...Oh.”_ The phone clanked back down on the receiver on the other end and beeped incessantly until Race dropped the phone with both relief and pooling dread.

“Jesus Christ, I don’t think I can deal with any more’a this shit,” Race sighed, collapsing onto the closest shop stool. 

“Whaddya mean, it’s just fuckin’ started.” Spot snorted, completely unamused. 

* * *

“Come in, boys,” Snyder gestured for his nephews to enter the office. “How was your trip?” He nodded at Wiesel, who stepped in after the boys.

“Went great,” Oscar snorted. “Won’t be hearing from _them_ any time soon.”

“Or ever,” Morris muttered. 

Snyder smiled dryly, pouring two drinks at the bar for them. “That’s good to hear.” He carried the glasses over to the boys, who both took them. Oscar instantly threw the glass back, but doubled over and threw it all up when his uncle slammed his fist into his stomach. Morris instantly put his own drink down and stepped back in disgust.

Snyder grabbed a towel from the bar and threw it down in front of Oscar. _“Clean it up,”_ he snapped in German.

Wiesel stepped back and stayed silent, eyes wide.

Oscar coughed. “What did I do?” He slurred angrily. “We cleaned everything up, no one saw shit!”

“Uncle, we—” Morris tried to cut in, continuing to back up for the door.

“Shut up! You stay!” He shouted, pointing at Morris. The boy stopped in his tracks. “I’m not fucking talking about the Bronx, you imbecile!” He hauled Oscar up by the front of his shirt and shook him angrily.

“So what, we stole a car! Who gives a shit?! An’ who gives a fuck if Morris wanted the guy?! No one’s gonna find out!”

In moments, Snyder’s cool demeanor was back. “It’s not _what_ you did, my nephews,” Snyder let go of his grip on the front of Oscar’s shirt. “It’s _who_ you did it to.” He stepped back, rubbing his temples in order to soothe the searing headache splitting open his head. 

Oscar reared back in surprise and anger. _“Who?_ You mean that fuckin’ punk?” 

Snyder moved back behind the counter, heaving a tired sigh. He poured himself a drink. “That _fuckin’ punk,”_ he took a shot, then stared the brothers straight in the eye. “...is David Jacobs.”

For a moment, there was a tense silence. Snyder continued when no reaction was invoked by the name. “He was an associate of ours years ago. Spoke thirty languages, could hide in plain sight. He was practically still a child; grew up in the Polish-Jewish mafia, never did they breed a more stone-cold killer. They called him the Czernobog.” 

“Isn’t that the demon from Fantasia?” Morris asked. 

Next to him, his brother huffed out a surprised laugh, rolling his eyes. “Oh, you gotta be shittin’ me.” Oscar brushed himself off.

“David Jacobs is not a cartoon demon. If you knew better, you’d be wishin’ he was. You know, I once watched him kill two men with a newspaper,” Snyder took a drag off his cigarette. “A fuckin’ _newspaper.”_ Oscar wasn’t laughing anymore. “He was the best of the business. All the families passed his talents around because they all wanted him for the job. Only person who came close to his expertise was his own sister. Thank God Sarah fuckin’ Jacobs doesn’t like getting her hands dirty.”

The room was choked out by an uncomfortable silence. Snyder continued, sighing and waving a hand around. “One day, David asked to leave. He had met someone, I never found out who. It was a lover, someone who must’ve meant a damn lot for him to leave his family still in the business. So in order to leave, I gave him an impossible task, something no one could’ve pulled off. But he showed up a week later, hands covered in dried blood—not a fleck on his clothes or nothin’, just his fuckin’ hands—telling me it was done.

“The bodies he piled up that day on our doorstep made this family what we are now.” A grotesque smile stretched across his face as Snyder reminisced. “He completed impossible tasks for all of the families he’s ever worked with just to get out, and he did it over and over and over again.” He huffed out a pissed-off laugh. “And then I find out, five years after he retires, my nephews not only broke into his house, stole his car, and killed his dog, but also kidnapped his husband, one Jack fuckin’ Kelly. Are either of you the slightest bit aware of who Jack Kelly is?” Silence. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought. You better pray to God you don’t find out, boys,” the man laughed. “You better hope that Daddy hasn’t cared about his little boy in a long time.”

“Uncle, we can fix this!” Morris said, moving next to his brother.

“Oh yeah?” Snyder sneered. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“By finishing what we started.” He paused. “He can’t be that bad.”

“Did you not just hear a fuckin’ word I said?! If I didn’t have a reputation to protect, you’d be already gone, none’a this shit would be my problem.” Snyder growled, then wrapped his arms around his nephews’ necks, squeezing tight. “David is gonna come for you, the both of you, and he’s gonna kill you. You’ll see him coming only if he _wants_ you to see him coming, and you can do nothing about it.”

“What do we do with Kelly?” Morris asked, face pale.

“What does it matter anymore?” Snyder chuckled, shoving the brothers out of his grip. “Hide ‘em. It doesn’t matter where, because Jacobs _will_ find him regardless. Keep him alive. It’s the best chance either of you have of surviving. Now get the fuck out of my sight.”

* * *

The sledgehammer weighed heavy in David’s hands. The stairs to the basement were steep and long, dusty from years of hardly any use. He used to avoid them whenever he could and Jack didn’t like knowing what was down there, so they both stayed away unless they truly needed something.

But now, Jack was gone. David had no choice.

He made his way down the stairs, found the center of the concrete floor, aimed, swung the sledgehammer high above his head and brought it down to the ground. A loud _crack!_ sounded throughout the tiny basement, and David repeated the motions, over and over, until the chest was finally uncovered underneath the broken bits of concrete. He tossed the sledgehammer to the side, and with a heavy heart he cleared off the lid, unlatched the chest, and lifted the cover. 

Sitting in front of him was his old array of weapons and blood money that he swore he would never use again. In the center of the box was his thirteenth birthday present: the knife given to him by his parents, his coming-of-age gift. They had it made and shipped from Poland and had it engraved with the adage _“_ _Jeśli chcesz pokoju, szykuj się do wojny.”_

_If you want peace, prepare for war. Si vis pacem, para bellum._

He did not force himself to touch the knife just yet. He could hardly stand to look at the thing without wanting to lift the blade to his own throat. David thought he was going to be sick again. He lifted the first layer of the box and moved it to the side, the hard metal scraping against the concrete floor. The layers just kept unfolding, all of the remnants of his past unfurling with them.

David had his peace. He found it. He lived it. It was a dream that shouldn’t have come true in the first place, but it was one that was never supposed to end. _Si vis pacem, para bellum._

The phone rang.

“Hello, Jacobs.” Silence. “It’s been quite some time, hasn’t it? My, you were practically only a boy when I last saw you. It’s gotta be shit luck that these are the circumstances we cross paths again.” More silence. “Listen, Jacobs, you are a grown man now, are you not? Why don’t we talk this through and handle this like civilized adults—”

_Click. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep—_

* * *

Snyder slammed the phone down in frustration.

“What did he say?” Wiesel asked, cautiously.

Snyder huffed. “Enough.” 

Wiesel leaned back. “Oh, Jesus.”

Snyder turned around, facing the large window outlooking the city. “Task your crew?”

“How many?”

“How many do you have?”

* * *

David needed a goddamn shower. 

The freezing water scalded his burnt back, but it grounded him for the final moments he had alone. Still, his skin crawled without reprieve. 

All he could think about was Jack. Jack, who had never done anything wrong in his life, who made Davey feel loved and worthy of love, of respect, of living. He was Davey’s steadfast anchor in a sea of blood and rotting corpses, who held both of their heads above the sinking point in the very beginning when all Davey wanted to do was let go and drown. He had so much love for the world. Even when he constantly was given the shit end, he cleaned it up and made light of what he had. Jack, the man he married, who gave him a life worth living with the promise of a home, a family, and maybe a kid or two (or three).

David attempted to rub the stiffness from his neck as he tried to deal with balancing the sharp worry stabbing at his chest and searing anger striking across his shoulders in alternating turns.

He knew what was coming for him. _Jeśli chcesz pokoju, szykuj się do wojny._

So he prepared.

* * *

David brushed through all of the paint-stained shirts and flannels, through the ripped jeans and board shorts, through the button-down dress shirts and dress pants and vests, all the way to the back of the closet to find what he was looking for.

His old suit hung on the rack under the bag protecting it from dust and grime. It was a beautiful thing, all black with the intricately-designed white shirt with tiny, almost invisible black stripes and his favorite striped black tie. He remembered he absolutely had to have it when he was seventeen and fell in love with the fabrics clashing against each other when the tailor placed all of his options in front of him. His mother had heavily advised against it and told him that the shirt would be a dead giveaway to his position in the dark and make him recognizable in the light. Nonetheless, she relented and let him make his own choice. It never gave him away once, so he continued to wear it regardless. It was the first choice he made for himself in his entire lifetime, so seventeen year-old him clung to it like it was water in the desert. 

The shirt and suit jacket was lined with bulletproof fabric, not enough to save him from a close-range shot but would do the job from a distance. It was still as pristine as he remembered it to be. Maybe a bit snug when he finally put it back on (after all, it had been _five years_ without living under a strict, monitored diet and training regimen) but it still looked just as it did all those years ago. Now, however, he felt less like he was dressing in his father’s clothes and more like he had raided a dead man’s closet.

He stared at himself in the mirror. The crooked nose was a new addition to the look, and so was the semi-healed split lip. It reminded him of his failure. But from the neck-down, his body was now the promise that he would not fail again.

He went downstairs. Placed one gun in his hand. Another in his inner pocket. He strapped his knife to his calf. He went back upstairs. He turned the bedside light off.

There were flashlights outside in the yard.

Jack’s painting had finished drying on the back porch.

_Jeśli chcesz pokoju, szykuj się do wojny._

_If you want peace, prepare for war._

_Si vis pacem, para bellum._

So he prepared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Language, gun violence, suicidal ideation (mentioned once), mentions of murder/corpses, alcohol use
> 
> The Czernobog is, in fact, that demon thing from Fantasia's [ Night on Bald Mountain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SLCuL-K39eQA=%22nofollow%22), which also happens to be one of my clearest memories from childhood. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David pulls the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name Dawid is used in the beginning of this chapter and will also be used later on. It is the Polish spelling of the name David and pronounced DAH-veed.
> 
> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

When the time came, David started shooting and didn’t stop. 

There were no more black-clad men in his home. There were only targets. 

_“Do you see the man in front of you, Dawid?” His mother asked him._

_Dawid stared at the man with the bag over his head. He was shaking. "Yes, Ima.” Dawid responded, wanting to please his mother._

_“Wrong, Dawid,” She scolded. “That is not a man. It is a target now, do you understand?” She asked him. He nodded his head, eyes wide. “This is the first lesson you will learn here. Working in this field is hard. It will hurt. It will sometimes make you sad. But you cannot let it make you sad while on the job, yes?” He nodded again, more hesitantly this time. “If you start to think about the_ person _you must kill, that means that you will have less time to react if they are trying to harm you, or you have wasted time that you could be on another job if you had completed the first one swiftly enough. You cannot hesitate.”_

_She paused for a moment, brushing his hair back from his eyes fleetingly. “I was just like you when I was your age. A fragile heart," she sighed. "You’re too good for this world, my son, but that means you must rise above and better it through the work you do. And the first step is to not think of them as people, boychik. They are all targets.”_

_She stepped back. The gun shook in his tiny grip. He looked back at her, eyes wide and shimmering, and she nodded her head reassuringly. He turned his attention back toward the target in the chair with the bag over its head. The target cried and screamed and struggled against the bonds. The other trainer stepped forward and removed the bag from the target’s head. The target’s face was a mess, nose snotty and running down into the fabric covering its mouth. Its eyes pleaded with Dawid. It begged him not to shoot. It tried to tell him that children shouldn’t be playing with guns._

_Dawid lifted the gun and pulled the trigger._

_The bullet planted itself right in the center of the target's forehead. The body went limp, its neck craning backward loosely and leaving its head hanging over the back of the chair. In those silent few seconds after the sound of the gunshot rang through the training room, the world stopped spinning and came to a shuddering halt in its place._

_“Very good, my son,” his mother praised. It made his chest feel light as a feather and he crooned under her gentle touch on the crown of his head. He did not look at the body as it was dragged away. This strange, empty feeling seeped into his bones. “Now, let’s see if your sister accomplished_ her _task.”_

David fell into the same pattern he had been taught years ago, finally fitting back into his second nature, into that cookie cutter shape made for him at birth and adjusted as his body grew. _Once a Jacobs, always a Jacobs._ Chest shot, then a head shot. A swift double-tap to ensure the target stayed dead when you were on the move. It was the cleanest way of killing, the technique for in-combat killings his mother had taught them to use. When the target has the opportunity to move, you need to make sure you finish the job as swiftly as possible.

Blood sprayed over the white walls, but there was no time to imagine what color they’d repaint them once the blood dried. (Something Jack would pick out; he always thought that the white in this part of the house was too boring and unoriginal.) He moved on to the next target, then the next, then the next. Some kills were messier than others. Some tried to throw him into his own walls or plug him in the head, but he always maneuvered out of the way or found another way to subdue the target. Some attacked two at a time, both with guns. Subduing one at first is always the easiest option, or if you’re lucky enough you can kill two birds with one stone. 

Remember your body mechanics. Your legs are the strongest parts of your body and are the easiest to lead with. (Even for him, the boychik with frail and stringy limbs. If he used them correctly, no one would expect the power behind his strikes.) If you need to push or pull, make sure your knees are slightly bent and try not to strain your upper body if you can avoid it. Sometimes it is unavoidable, but you can keep yourself from sustaining injuries or tears by following your body mechanics. This will make it easier if you need to throw someone over your shoulder onto the ground by balancing out your respective limbs. Always remember your core. It must be strong and unmovable at all times, but also remember when to let down and move quickly.

Be aware of your surroundings. Cover your own back; if there’s a bulletproof wall then you need to make sure you can use it to your best advantage. His walls were not bulletproof, but only one of Snyder’s men was smart enough to consider that. The target tried to shoot through the wall down at him but David was able to land a hit based on where he fired, not lethal enough to kill but enough to hurt. David was able to use his own body mechanics to throw them into the glass wall. It will not always be a clean kill. If need be, you can use your own gun as a weapon, not just the bullets. If you can’t get a clean shot, use the brunt of it or the side, or even the barrel if you run out of ammunition. Use glass if you need to. It can severely injure your target, but also yourself if you are not careful enough. Always follow through with a finishing blow, a clean bullet in the head will do. Move on quickly.

There will be struggling. Taking on two men at once is never fun, but can be easy enough to do with a gun. If not a gun, you can always be creative. Anything can be used as a weapon if used in kind. Don’t be afraid to get dirty and play unfair, it is a simple fact of the job. You will not be shown mercy, so don’t show any in return. If you have a knife or something of the sort and are struggling to cleanly stab it in, hit the brunt of it with your other hand and get the momentum to be able to drive it in using force. Not the preferred method, but it will work with enough tries and it will be lethal if done enough times. A bullet to the head is still recommended after the fact.

Keep yourself protected. Watch your head, watch your back. Make sure you can break the target’s neck with ease without worrying that the person behind them will shoot you. Chances are, they will, but your job is to not think but be aware so you can get it all over with as quickly as possible. Never hesitate. It is the fastest way to get injured or lose your life if you stall for even a moment. Use your height leverage. You may have more surface on your body to become a target for someone else, but if you are quick enough it won’t matter. This can even give you the upper hand in many fights, because longer limbs mean you can reach further and higher than the other person. Never close your eyes. It will end as soon as it starts if you stay aware and focused on the task.

As quickly as it started, it ended. The house was silent once again. Bodies littered the hallways and the rooms. Glass was shattered everywhere. David couldn’t recall the situation with the man lying on the kitchen island with his neck hanging over the side. He tried not to recall any of it.

The doorbell rang. David straightened and turned toward the door, where red and blue lights flashed incessantly through the glass windows. Humanity still hadn’t come back to him. That familiar empty feeling had sunk in again after five whole years without it. He held the gun behind his back. He opened the door.

The police officer stood outside the door, shifting nervously. “Hey, David.”

“Hello, Romeo. Noise complaint?”

Romeo hesitated, smiling awkwardly. “Yep. The new neighbors called it in, just wanted to make sure everything was okay over here.” Romeo’s gaze drifted past David and into the open hallway. His eyes widened. “You, uh,” he hesitated. “You workin’ again?”

David let his lips shift into a wry smile. “I’m just sorting some stuff out, you know how easy it is to have retirement paperwork mixed up.”

“Uh, sure do, David,” Romeo nodded nervously. “I’ll just get out of your hair, then. I, uh, hope everything gets sorted out alright for you.”

“Me too, Romeo. Have a nice night.”

“You too, David. And hey, good morning.” David nodded and shut the door behind him. He checked his watch. _3:37 AM._ He headed back downstairs to the basement, not looking at the bodies scattered across the floor as he passed. He counted out fourteen gold coins, then dialed in the number that had been ingrained in his memory for all this time.

_“Jacobi’s Restaurant, this is Elmer speaking.”_

“Elmer, this is Jacobs.”

 _“Jacobs? Is that David Jacobs I’m hearing? You serious?”_ The man on the other line asked, appalled.

“Yes. I’d like to make a dinner reservation.”

Elmer hesitated, voice clearly showing his surprise. _“For how many?”_

“Fourteen.”

He whistled. _“Gotcha, pal. Hey, you doin’ okay? It’s been a while.”_

“Just fine, Elmer. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

_“See you then, Dave.”_

He waited on the couch for five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes before he went to the back porch. Jack’s paintings were left untouched, the cup of paint water still sat on the table not yet taken care of. The expanse of Santa Fe stood propped up on the easel before him. A memory passed by in a haze, woken up by the hues of bright yellows and soft pinks and dusty browns and viridescent greens of the painting. Sick dread seeped into his veins and down his spine.

The doorbell rang for the second time that night. He walked past the bodies strewn about and found the front door again, car lights shining through the tinted door. He swung the door open.

“Elmer.” 

The man in front of him stood in shock. Elmer shuffled his foot and pressed his hands behind his back. He smiled hesitantly. “David. Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s you. After all these years, they said you were done—” 

“I was,” David said after the sentence lulled. "I am." He stepped out of the doorway. Elmer looked the slightest bit conflicted, but he simply nodded to the boys behind him and led them into the house. They all stepped through the doorway, carrying various cleaning supplies and laughing amongst themselves, and they set to work. 

If it wasn’t his own house that he created the bloodshed in, David would’ve been long gone as soon as he paid Elmer, the same way he had done years ago. Their conversations had never been in length and were broken up into various different times, but they happened so frequently that they knew each other decently well. 

That searing tension continued to lance up David’s back and into his neck. He watched as body upon body was wrapped tightly and dragged out and piled in the truck. The leftover shards of his and Jack’s wedding vase were swept up and the windows were thoroughly washed with a strong, eye-watering bleach. The back window that shattered upon impact earlier on in the night was taped and covered, and Elmer had the courtesy to contact someone to replace it for him. 

“A small favor,” Elmer had called it, after he picked up one of the picture frames and smiled sadly. David chose to ignore the look.

Nothing in his life was no longer left untouched by his past. Walls he passed that were once splattered with paint were now being scrubbed down to get rid of the splatters of blood. Landscapes and portraits that Jack had painted were left permanently tainted and looked down on him in horror and sympathy as he passed by them. Frames were left shattered on the floor, needing replacements of glass covering the pictures. Among the pictures scattered among the floor were their wedding photos, random holidays like their odd mashup of Hanukkah and Christmas, plenty of pictures of random events with them together, Jack’s senior pictures and baby pictures of him with his mother, and photographs of Davey from his first month of freedom, still pale and shaky but smiling and holding Jack’s hand as he took the pictures. (He was much better then than he had been those first two weeks.)

David gingerly picked up one of the shattered frames, shaking out the glass and examining the photograph. The picture was taken right in their own backyard, both of them sitting criss-cross in front of the beds of flowers Davey had planted. They were covered with vibrant orange and blue paint, eyes bright and smiles wide. David remembered how Jack had wiped off a small portion of paint on his hands to lean his phone against the wheelbarrow still covered with paint. The countdown on the camera had caught David mid-laugh as he smiled at the camera, and Jack was next to him with a smile just as bright, his head tilted to the side to look at Davey.

David's chest thrummed with a terrible energy as he stared at the photograph. He entered his bedroom and gently laid down the broken frame on the bedside table.

The job was done at around four thirty that morning, and both him and Elmer stood in the doorway in an odd, unexplainable silence. Elmer looked toward David and asked, “Will I be hearing from you anytime soon?” He still wore that look of sympathy. 

David sighed. “Goodbye, Elmer,” he said, placing the fourteen gold coins into Elmer’s hand. 

Elmer simply nodded. “Bye, Dave,” he said, tilting his head toward him. Elmer and his boys piled back into the trucks and left, leaving David to stand in the doorway in his own silence.

* * *

“Of course he did.” Snyder slammed the palm of his hand on the desk. Wiesel jumped slightly at the noise, not expecting the loud reaction. Snyder brought his hands up to his face and held them there, poised as if praying, eyes closed, then he said, “Put out a contract for David Jacobs.”

Wiesel stared at the fireplace in front of them. “For how much?” 

“Two million.” Snyder brought his drink to his lips, closed his eyes, and chugged. Once he finished, he said, “Kelly’s been hidden?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Once the boys are done with their _plaything,”_ he spat, “put them in The Square to wait.”

“For what?”

“For the Czernobog, of course.”

* * *

David’s bags were hastily packed and placed in the trunk of his borrowed car. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he shut the trunk closed, and he barely remembered to brush the bangs that curled at the ends out of his eyes before he ripped out of the driveway, straight out of the country land and down the backroads that would lead him into the heart of New York City. The flowers in the yard would have to be left unwatered for the time being. There was no choice but to leave it all behind.

They would all pay.

* * *

Crutchie had seen the texts and messages that flooded through his phone as early as four-thirty in the morning, and he decided that he found it easier to try and ignore them. David was no longer part of his life, but he was still a friend and one of the old comforts he had clung to back in his teenage years. There was never a world Crutchie lived in where someone could ever kill the indestructible David Jacobs. 

But the questions all still lingered in the back of his head. _Why was there a contract for David? What had he done? He had worked for the Snyder family once, he was the one to drag them out of the mud and stand them upright without getting so much as a fleck on himself_ _—why were they out for him now? (It was strange that it was the Snyder family after him instead of the Sullivan family.)_

He couldn’t pretend that David wasn’t an enigma to him. He simply couldn’t. Even before he had met him, he was a ghost story told to the other mafia-grown kids, even ones the same age or older than him. The Jacobs twins were untouchable as much as they were unbreakable, and when Crutchie had met David in all of his brooding, early teenage glory, he knew all of the stories were true. But there was something so raw, so _intoxicating_ about him that brought them closer to each other in those long nights where the authority figures wouldn’t let up the grip around their chains in the World’s bar (even though they technically weren’t old enough to drink) and in the boring, solitary hotel rooms. 

They had talked through a lot of lonely nights together. They had even dared to steal a few kisses, which had turned into something real, something palpable. Something Crutchie could hold in his arms. David had called it teenage rebellion, even though the look in his eyes said otherwise. Crutchie had called it finding a new friend, and there was the same look in his own eyes that there was in David’s. It was then that Crutchie realized that despite growing up in the same universe, they were both from completely different worlds. 

They continued to walk on eggshells between each other until they would collide and fall back into their same new habits. It was as close to companionship as David had ever gotten with someone beside his own sister, and it was the first time Crutchie had stepped out of his comfort circle of consistent friends and felt mature enough to be able to snipe down his target and stand up to the old lady holding the ruler who would wait for him to slip up.

That feeling of cautiousness never ended between them, even after they both left and met again and left again and met again. It went on and on like that for a long time until David had met someone new, someone who wasn’t scared of having something more and who never grew up hearing folk tales and having childhood nightmares of the Czernobog coming to get him among the other creatures that go bump in the night. 

That had all happened years ago, and despite the fact that he hadn’t heard from David in a long time, he did think of him from time to time and wondered how he was doing on the other side. He was still a companion. He was still a friend. But things _were_ different, and it was hard to pin down his feelings on the matter.

It wasn’t long before the messages on his phone in the morning had led to the doorbell ringing. He couldn’t say he was shocked. He still barely held back a wince as he did end up opening the door. 

Wordlessly, he nodded and let Snyder and his guards into his house, gesturing for Snyder to sit down at the table as he retrieved drinks from the kitchen. 

“You know why I’m here.” The smile on Snyder’s face was unnerving. “I’d like to offer you a job, Mr. Morris.”

Crutchie tilted his head to the side, giving Snyder a knowing look and a lilting smile in return. “I _do_ have a phone. I put two and two together.”

“Would you be willing to kill David Jacobs for two million?”

The smile on Crutchie’s face never faltered. Instead, he took a seat, leaned his crutches against the table, then passed a glass of fruit smoothie to Snyder. He looked like he would’ve laughed if he found it any funnier. “You want me to kill my friend?” He asked, staring in bemusement.

Snyder looked at him dead in the eye. “I know how it ended for you. Many people would jump at the chance to take out their own—” Crutchie wasn’t smiling anymore. “Well, you _were_ close, the two of you, weren’t you? In your teenage years. So I know this is a very _personal_ matter for you.” 

Crutchie waited for a beat to pass. “Is it exclusive?”

“No, but I know you’ll get the job done faster than anyone else who attempts to finish that contract. It’s practically all yours.” Snyder smiled, knowing he was winning the battle.

Crutchie sighed, then looked down. He knew what he was getting himself into when he relented. “Consider it done.” 

Snyder smiled and shook his hand. “I knew I could trust you, Mr. Morris. Thank you.” Just like that, he was gone.

David Jacobs was an enigma.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Gun violence, murder, child exploitation/abuse, language, violence in general
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

“Hello?!”

“Hey, let me out!”

_“Let me the fuck out of here!”_

It was so fucking dark.

Wherever they dumped him (this stupid fucking basement in wherever the hell this place was), it was terribly cold and damp. Even the carpet beneath him was wet to the touch. He hoped to God it was just because of the condensation. Something was horribly wrong.

Jack wasn’t an idiot. He heard the frantic mutters in German as they left him down in the basement, utterly alone for the first time since this all started. He found it both a blessing and a curse. 

It just didn’t make sense. He wasn’t sure how long he had been out for (they had kept him drugged up in the back of the truck for quite some time) but something had changed between the time they dragged him out of his own home, kicking and screaming (promising him a _good time)_ and from when they barely even touched him except to drag him through the doors, completely blindfolded, down the stairs, and to shove him down on the carpet covering the cold cement.

He knew who was coming for him. Chances are, they now knew too. He was willing to bet that was what their silence was for.

Would they kill Jack off before Davey could even get there? Would they keep him alive, unknowing of what was going on? 

Jesus, what if they _killed_ Davey?

It had been five years since Davey had even so much as looked at a gun. He still got freaked out easily sometimes, still shot up at the sound of fireworks in the middle of the night, still reached for his empty pocket when he swore he saw that shadow moving after his second glass of wine. He shouldn’t have to jump back in just after he had escaped that hell. Dread sank into Jack’s chest. Did Davey even make it off the kitchen rug, or was his body just laying there, waiting to be buried?

Jesus, Jack didn’t know. He hoped the fuck not. _God, not him, anyone but him._ It was waiting and not knowing. Waiting and hoping. Waiting and praying. Waiting and shouting up at the door so loud that his throat felt raw afterward.

He felt sorry.

Not for himself, there was no time to feel sorry for himself. (Or maybe there was too much time.) He felt sorry for Davey, who had worked so hard to get them both out of this mess. Jack had no idea who these people were, but he knew they were mafia. They had to be. Davey would be dragged back into the fray again. And Jack was well aware of what happened the first time he got out.

Those first two weeks were so _hard_ . It was days upon days of Davey sobbing his eyes out and driving himself sick, and then it was days where he would suddenly switch out the vomiting to sitting in bed and staring at the wall in a catatonic state. _“A fragile heart, that’s what my mother called me,”_ he had spat out on one of the days he could actually talk. Words would spill out of his mouth, all the horrors of the past twenty years finally catching up to him. He couldn’t dehumanize his victims anymore when he had finally started to become a human himself. Every _target_ was a living, breathing person, someone with a story.

Jack saw how much it hurt Davey. Jack had been around for three years before he came even close to seeing anything comparable to those two weeks. It was three dark years in New York City that pushed him to fall in love with the brightest thing that shined there. And Davey just kept shining, pulsating brilliantly and standing out in an array of dull greys. Some days, his light flashed with a wrath of ten thousand angry men, others it slowed to a singular, languid beat that shone just for him, just for Jack. It would spark in a perturbed fashion with the memory of nightmares long past, sometimes for seemingly no outward reason at all.

Davey wasn’t free. He never had been. He was still fighting and killing his own demons, assassinating them at an alarming rate with no reward, no bounty to collect. It was because they were his own creations, things he had to stare at in the face and grow ten times bigger than just to intimidate the competition of his own mind.

Jack hated seeing people he loved hurt. It was the worst kind of pain, the worst kind of sting. He felt that hurt through Davey, and before Davey he felt it through his own mother.

Jack missed his mother horribly. He missed Santa Fe.

He had to remind himself that his mother was gone anyway; she wasn’t waiting for him anywhere special besides maybe heaven or something of the sort that she had always believed in. Santa Fe wasn’t safe anymore, where sometimes his old foster father would forget to lock the back door or his foster mother wouldn’t come home until three in the morning, hickeys from someone beside her husband bruising around her throat in the shape of a necklace. Santa Fe turned darker once he was passed around from home to home, once his mother died. The only consolation back then was that she had a quick death. A car crash. 

A fucking _car crash,_ is what they'd said it was. And it was. But there was something horribly _off._

But there was no longer a pair of arms to turn to back there, no one but old high school flings and teachers who sometimes wondered where he had disappeared.

Truth be told, Santa Fe still held some semblance of meaning to him; it was the place his mother chose to bring him when the man who impregnated her set a map in front of her and forced her to pick where to spend the rest of her life hiding in with her unborn child. She was dead to the family; no one could know that the boss had broken his own rules. (No man in the family can sleep with another’s wife. If anyone found out said man had forced himself onto her, _oh,_ would the family burn.) She made her own life new again, where no one could know she existed anymore six feet above the ground. That was all Jack knew.

That was all Jack cared about. That life was behind him now. He never asked any more from both his mother and Davey and anyone else who knew the slightest about _that man_. He didn’t want to know. Jesus, did he have questions, but he didn’t want to know. All he knew was that his mother was the bravest person in the world.

He didn’t regret choosing his new life. He chose to trust Davey, he chose to take that protection he couldn’t get in Santa Fe, where the most exciting thing to happen to him was the upcoming school play with his very own approved set design.

Truly, if he were probably anybody else he most certainly wouldn’t have trusted Davey in those first moments. He still remembered how that seventeen year-old boy materialized in front of him, a teenager just like himself, started laughing like they were good friends and brought him into a hug and whispered in his ear, _“Keep smiling. There are people out to kill you. I’m going to help you. Come with me.”_

No one in their right mind would believe something like that, right? But he still remembered how his heart dropped out of his chest at those words, how he grabbed onto that stranger’s arm and let him lead him down the sidewalk, pretending to smile and laugh all the way. The boy was laughing and wore a very naturally delighted expression, but his eyes were cold and calculated, scanning all around the street and in the buildings they passed. It wasn’t until he pulled out a dulled black gun and started firing silent shots inconspicuously, not a single person noticing as they passed by, as he continued to walk with an arm around Jack’s shoulder that he realized that he was in some deep, flaming hot shit.

* * *

Jack listened as the boy instructed him to put his back against the brick wall, completely covered from any windows up above or to their sides. He still held his gun in his hands, incredibly stiff and steady, and Jack listened to him explain himself.

As he spoke now, his voice was very cold and calculating, nothing like the bubbly chatter he prattled off when they were walking side by side. “Your father didn’t expect me to put my own personal research into the job he gave me. He wanted his mess cleaned up. You’re the loose end. There’s no justifying what he’s done to you and your mother. He sent someone too sloppy after your mother, he thought I would finish the job for him easily.” 

News of his mother’s car accident flashed in Jack’s mind. He took a shaky breath. “Shouldn’t we just call the police or somethin’?” He didn’t know what else to say. _His actual fucking father wanted to kill him,_ was all that was going through Jack’s head. _He killed his mother and he was after him, too._ He knew he was a shit father (and person, for a matter of fact) all along, but this just took the damn cake.

The boy just plowed through his sentences like he was running out of time. “According to law enforcement, crime families are a thing of the past. They would never believe that an Irish mob boss was looking to kill a seventeen year-old Latino kid from Santa Fe and the assassin he sent wants to help save his life.” Jack rolled his eyes at the sarcasm.

“Alright, you got a point, but also according to the law my last name is Kelly, to be fair.” He released a puff of air, eyes stinging. He pushed back the urge to shake out the tension in his hands. “But why are you even helping me?”

The boy paused, almost like he didn’t even know the answer himself. “Let’s call it teenage rebellion.” Something clashed in his eyes, but he continued. “There’s a place that I can bring you, back in New York. I have a friend you can live with for the time being who can help you finish out your classes and keep you protected.”

“Wouldn’t there be a shit ton of paperwork if I just disappeared?” Jack’s voice was shaking. His hands were shaking too. He _fucking wished_ he could be surprised by any of the shit that was happening. The mafia was too messy for him.

“Why do you think we’re visiting your foster parents? Don’t worry about the paperwork, I will have it handled. All you need to do is explain you’re leaving and you’re going to be okay. There’s more protection for you in New York, a place where he legally _can’t_ touch you.”

Jack’s mind stopped in his own tracks. It all felt so surreal. “Wait, hold up, why the fuck should I even trust you? I don’t know you!”

The boy gave Jack a blank stare. “You’d already be dead if you didn’t trust me. Please, we should leave tonight. There’s only so much I can do.”

Jack huffed and moved over to his house’s front door, but he shook his head and turned back around. He crossed his arms. “I don’t even know your name. Could you at least tell me your name?”

The boy had to consider it. Finally, he gave in and said, “David Jacobs.”

“Fine, Davey.” He watched as the boy froze, and he turned around and marched into his foster parents’ home. No one was there, so he ended up leaving a hastily-written letter and vanishing in the night with bags that had been packed months ago.

_Victoria and Matthew,_

_I’m leaving. Don’t worry about me, everything’s gonna be okay. Thanks for letting me stay for a while. You were one of the nicer ones. (Which means you should be proud. So, thanks.)_

_~Juanito_

* * *

The train ride to New York City felt like a fever dream back then. It was two days of pure bliss, the finest dining he had ever experienced before in his life, with plush seating and the biggest bed he could ever imagine. But there was also a pit of terror and a lot of regret swelling inside his chest. He prayed that he had made the right decision, and with all the bodies hidden in the train walls by Davey, he started to believe that maybe it was the right one. Still, _holy shit._

Davey was always busy then. He would sit at the table, laptop opened and gun in his pocket, and he would make phone calls saying things like _“Hey, Specs, I need you to replace that paperwork immediately,”_ and _“Finch, I need you to protect us from up high as we walk into the World,”_ and _“Miss Medda, everything’s going alright here, we’ll be in the city soon,”_ and _“Yes, Saz, I know what I’m doing. Do not tell Ima and Aba yet, I swear_ _—”_ Jack stopped listening after the conversation had left the realm of the English language.

Davey didn’t sleep on the train. He stayed wide awake, sitting in the chair in front of the computer, always busy with something. He took caffeine shots when the forty-nine hours became too much to stay awake through alone. He let Jack take the bed, and Jack would end up lying wide awake, trying to reason with himself that the assassin in the room would NOT kill him, his name is Davey and he’s a literal _child_ and he’s surprisingly easy to talk to and he doesn’t smile nearly as much as he should because oh, _that smile._

It wasn’t until they were surrounded by people that Davey was acquainted with that Jack realized he smiled a lot less and it always seemed dimmer, more formal whenever he did. Even around Miss Medda Larkin, the woman with golden pipes and a heart to go along with her beautiful singing voice. With the way she could perform on the stage down in the World, you would never guess that she had perfect aim to go along with it. Jack felt more at home with her, under her personal protection, than he did back in the families the system had thrown him in.

She had even done her best to keep him out of the business. There was really no choice for him to stay anywhere but the World or wherever she took him, but he lived with her up in her personal suite and she helped him with his classes and was just _there_ when whatever he was going through was just too complicated to go through alone.

Davey only came to the World when he had jobs. That being said, he was there _a lot._ And every time he was there, without fail, he went to see Jack. Every moment he could spare, he was there, keeping Jack company when he really didn’t have to. Jack wasn’t sure what to make of it at first. He didn’t know if Davey felt guilty for what had happened (even though he shouldn’t have been, he saved Jack’s life) or if he saw that Jack needed a friend. Maybe he had needed one himself.

A year later, Jack knew that Davey did. Need a friend, that was.

That brightness Jack had seen in Davey started to materialize around the same time his feelings did. That strange, ultraviolet light followed him wherever he went in the line of Jack’s vision. That same year, Jack had sensed the longing in Davey’s eyes. His steel walls had started to rust away and collapse, slowly but surely. Jack lodged his fingers onto the edges and helped Davey pull the debris away. He still stood on his chess board, letting the pieces be moved around for him, but whatever that “teenage rebellion” was had obviously stuck.

Jack would normally be described as someone with somewhat of a ‘loud’ personality, maybe someone who overshared a bit too much and projected onto his hundreds of escapist realities inside his mind while still being sociable with his friends. Davey was the opposite. Nothing got past his borders unless he let it. He didn’t let you see anything unless he wanted you to. At least, that was how he was back in the beginning. He must’ve seen something in Jack’s eyes, because he let Jack see something too.

Davey was angry with the way things were. How his life consisted of what his next job was from the age of thirteen. How his body count determined his level of success. How the only people that weren’t scared of him were his immediate family, Jack, and an incredibly limited number of friends. 

Of course, there were others that were able to look him in the eye and actually smile and shake his hand, but they were few and far in between. Some just wanted to say they were able to make the great Czernobog bow his head down, others wanted to say that they met David Jacobs and survived. Some actually cared for him, but even they weren’t enough to make the hell that was organized crime any better to stay in.

Looking back, the basis of their relationship may not have seemed very healthy, but it was crippling loneliness and clamped hands and a light brush over the brow. Then, it was seeing sunlight after long, cloudy days. It was something unexplained, something only they understood. Not teenage rebellion, whatever Davey called whenever he thought for himself or stared at Jack’s lips for longer than what was socially acceptable, and then later when he gently pressed him back onto the bed and asked if that was okay. It didn’t need to be explained with words.

It wasn’t teenage rebellion. It was being a person, with hopes and visions and questions. That was what it was.

Jack tried not to ask because he didn’t want to know, but Davey faced a lot of backlash for what he did. He saw it whenever Medda would look at Davey in pity when he would come to visit, he saw it whenever he handed a paper over to Medda in return. He saw it when people froze when they walked past him in the halls. He saw it in the strain behind Davey’s neck and shoulders in those early days.

He wouldn’t know until long after, but David had made an agreement that if he kept Jack alive, absolutely no one could know a single thing. All evidence had to be hidden. That was what happened when you trusted the best and they refused to follow through. You compromised, because you still wanted your life. Sullivan was backed up into a corner, and that was the first time Davey had decided to use his power and pull the strings.

Three years passed and Davey needed to get out, out, _out._ He saw it when Davey started to handle his own finances at eighteen, and it certainly didn’t improve at twenty. That teenage rebellion was no longer teenaged, but had turned into a full-grown adult who knew what he wanted and knew how to get it.

Davey had made him a promise: they would both get to leave. They could live together and see the world the way they wanted to. It was all theirs once they were free, once the blood was wiped clean from Davey's hands. A month later, it was a reality. He came to Jack, exhausted and pale-faced, and they packed their bags, hugged Miss Medda and Davey’s old friends goodbye (Davey’s closest friends Race and Spot had given him an _actual fucking car_ as a retirement gift) and they left the World and didn’t turn back. (Davey had already said goodbye to his family. They gave him all of the money he had ever made through them, and they let him go with a lot of spite.)

They were never fucking free in the first place, but life on the other side their life was completely different.

He loved the life that they had created. He loved his husband, he loved their house with the randomly-painted walls and back porch that led into the garden. He loved the modern-styled window-walls in the back that Davey had fallen in love with when they were picking out the house. He loved the Ford Mustang that Davey had gotten as a gift from his friends that they both loved driving around everywhere. He loved their slightly senile old neighbors and their small, rural New York living. He loved the little school that he would sometimes bring art to and visit with the students in the foster system. He loved those kids with stories to tell that were larger than life. He loved the dog he and Davey had adopted and the idea of the family they would soon have.

Now, Jack could still hear the high-pitched whimper when the pipe came down and struck his puppy’s tiny body. Their Teddy was gone. He lasted a day in their family.

His chest filled with a rage-fueled despair that sizzled and spat angrily. Behind the fire, there was still the fear that lingered. He didn’t want to follow his mother’s footsteps. He didn’t want to be touched in this place, he didn’t want to be assaulted or—

He couldn’t even think of the word. He couldn’t bear to put it in his mind.

His skin crawled. His hands couldn’t stop shaking. God, why couldn’t he get them to stop?!

He refused to let it happen. It couldn’t. He was fucking strong, even if he couldn’t shoot a gun or speak thirty languages or practice martial arts. He was strong in his own way, damnit, and he would survive this hell. He had his fists, he had his elbows, and he had his feet to kick someone in the balls if he needed to.

It was just another hurdle that him and Davey had to jump over. It was a test, one created by the gods of the sun and moon to see if they were strong enough to pass. Jack knew they were. They would make it through, sweating and bleeding and in so much anguish, but they would make it through together because he couldn't bear to think of what would happen if they weren’t.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It was so dark down—well, wherever the hell he was.

He missed Davey. He missed the feeling of Davey’s docile hands pressing into his chest from behind, he missed his gentle, dark, searching eyes locked on Jack’s own. He missed waking up next to Davey, who sat wide awake but waited for him after a bad night. He missed watering the flowers next to him in the morning and in the evening, he missed ducking from the splatters of paint they would fling at each other when they painted an entirely new wall out of boredom and spare time. He missed being able to kiss the tips of Davey’s piano fingers and place them wherever he wanted them to go. He missed the way Davey’s eyes would flutter whenever Jack would call him _corazón_ or _ángel_.

He was so angry. Angry at the universe for its sick little games it liked to play on them. They seemed cursed. Two forces that were drawn together and stuck to each other, only to be yanked in opposite directions and pulled, harder and harder apart-

He sat in the dark, hands covering his face, and he tried not to cry.

It was so dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Kidnapping, drugging, language, mentions of PTSD, implied/referenced rape/sexual assault
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David enters the World.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

The city was a cold place.

Even with the way the bright sky stood out against it, the concrete jungle loomed ominously over David’s new Dodge Charger. He fit in perfectly amongst the lines of other cars passing by him on the bridge, but he couldn’t help feeling as if he stuck out like a sore thumb.

The city had always felt cold and haunting to him. It was a nasty, disgusting place with smoke and litter swamping the streets. It wasn’t a place David had missed at all, in all the time he was able to avoid it. It always felt bleach-washed, with cold iron greys and splatters of red blood scrubbed hastily off the pavement. It used to be the only home he knew, however, so it became a morbid comfort in his younger years. It was a place where he could blend in and disappear. It was a place where he could get the job done quickly and quietly.

Not anymore. It was a nightmare, the way the city looked as he crossed the bridge. It was like falling back into an old, unhealthy habit, like a junkie turning back to a substance they know will only lead to more ruin. But he _had_ to do it.

Old habits die hard. He let his muscle memory lead himself to drive to the front of the World Hotel. He picked up his bags out of the trunk, handed the valet his keys, and stepped through the familiar double doors.

Inside the doors, there was an array of people, many from different cultures and age groups, all minding their own business, chatting away happily on the phone or filling out paperwork on clipboards balanced on their laps. None of them acknowledged him as he passed by.

He stepped up to the front counter, waiting for the person in front of him to finish. The man collected his suite key, nodded to the concierge with a quiet “thanks,” and turned around. His face contorted into a lilted half-smile as his eyes roamed over David’s figure.

Tommy Boy tilted his head toward him. “David,” he smiled. There was something predatory in his gaze, something all-too recognizable in the business.

Tommy Boy was a ruthless shot. He had no sense of loyalty to anyone besides the Russians and no camaraderie with anyone outside of his family, which was an incredibly dangerous thing to everyone else but incredibly successful for himself. He went wherever the most money was. Currently, David found it easy to believe that the two million dollar bounty over his own head was one of the highest.

David nodded in return, forcing his neck to finally become pliant once more. The tension still sat rigid on his shoulders. “Thomas.” 

The other assassin let the smile slip from his face before turning and exiting into one of the side elevators. David shook off the strange feeling running down his spine before he finally turned back toward the concierge, who waited patiently for him to snap out of his own moment.

Hannah glanced down at her papers from behind her wire glasses. “You’re listed here for two nights, is that correct?”

“Depending on business, it may be more or less,” David held the bag slung over his shoulder a little tighter. “When did the hotel get a renovation?” He asked.

Hannah hummed. “About four years ago. But I assure you, it’s still the same old place it’s always been.” 

David nodded. “Management hasn’t changed?”

Hannah smiled briefly. “Yes, the World is still under the same owners. I don’t think that you’re going to find that all that much has changed around here, Mr. Jacobs.” She paused. “You’ll be in Room 817.”

“Thank you, Hannah,” He nodded politely as the concierge slid the key across the desk after she collected the two coins David had left on the counter.

“Of course.” The woman behind the counter paused. “It’s good to see you again, kid.”

Suddenly, David was a little kid again, and Hannah would smile at him when he would work his way through the crowd of adults and stand on his tip-toes just to reach across the counter. Back in the earliest days, she would slip him a piece of candy, usually a mint, and wink at him. It always used to make him giggle quietly.

Her sympathetic smile was too much to bear this time. David didn’t respond, snapping back into his own body again. He tilted his head, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

* * *

The sun had just set, and the light in David’s hotel room had faded into this dull, muted blue color. He sat on the bed, still-unpacked bag resting next to his feet, and he pulled out his phone and went into the camera roll.

The video in mind was one of the last things he had filmed, sitting innocently next to rows upon rows of the same happy pictures in the same beautiful place. He clicked on the video and pressed play.

_Jack looked up once he noticed the camera pointed in his direction. “What’re you doing, Davey?” He asked, eyes crinkling in mirth._

_“Admiring you,” Davey crooned back, voice sickly sweet and full of love. Jack smiled, wrapping a charcoal-covered hand around Davey's neck. They gazed into each other's eyes, mirroring each other with matching looks of pure bliss, and Jack pulled Davey in for a kiss full of teeth and slow jubilation._

Jack’s touch was so healing. That was the only way David could describe it. Any surface he laid his hands on burst into a bloom of flowers, of sunshine, of warmth. It was the way David felt when Jack's hand wrapped around the back of his neck, the way he felt when Jack grabbed his hand after they had both gone through a terrible day, the way he felt when Jack would bring a hand up to his face, to his chest, to rest on his hips, his thighs, everywhere. It was a healing touch. It was breathing in new life through his pores. It was breathing in a blinding smile and hearing a loud, trumpeting laugh. It was just Jack.

David still remembered the air in Santa Fe, the flowers that seemed so vibrant against the sandy Pueblo architecture, and he remembered seeing Jack’s smile for the first time. Seeing him standing there, not hurting anyone, quietly humming to himself with his earbuds in as he painted a mural on one of the brick buildings on the street. He had a paintbrush tucked behind his ear, staining his hair and cheek with a beautiful dark blue paint. He wasn’t fazed by the mess around him, he instead stayed suspended in his own little bubble. 

But there was a look in his eye, something heavy. The loss was evident. Then, he saw it later on when he was in his (fourth) foster parents’ home, this time in his bedroom with a pencil between his fingers and a sketchbook on the bed in front of him, scribbling and tearing out pages upon pages of his mother’s face. He saw it again when he passed by him on his way home from school, earbuds in again, but he noticed David, a complete stranger to him, passing by and gave him a brief but beautiful smile.

David could’ve turned around as he passed and yanked him into the perfectly-placed alleyway, taken the shot right then and cleaned up the evidence, but he didn’t. He remembered the damn papers. He remembered the evidence that Sullivan tried to cover up. The man did a damn good job at it, but not good enough. It was Sullivan’s fault for thinking that David could be heartless enough to take the shot, to not consider that the murder wouldn’t be justified. In Sullivan’s defense, not long before, David probably would’ve. (“ _You’re too good for this world, my son, but that means you must rise above and better it through the work you do.”)_

David was a teenager then, one who started to question the world and its morals, question his parents, question the men and women his parents set him in front of for “business.” He was able to recognize that morally in this situation, what was happening was wrong and he couldn’t follow through with it (and it wasn’t just because the pretty boy smiled at him walking down the street). What he was supposed to do was wrong. And he was able to choose to pull out, to do something incredibly risky. It was a long and hard decision.

So, he killed all the people Sullivan sent to watch him to make sure the job was done, no questions asked. (Not that there were many. Too messy for Sullivan to explain why he needed the job done in the first place.) And then David took Jack out of Santa Fe.

It was a fucking miracle that Jack willingly came with him.

Call him selfish for taking Jack out of Santa Fe. For falling in love, fast and hard, with a kid from an entirely different world than his. Jack was sun-kissed and healthy, crafted by the gods of the sun themselves, and David was pale and gaunt, forged from ice and fire by the devil’s finest craftsmen. Jack didn’t learn to fire a gun at the age of seven, he didn’t kill his first victim at age nine. He grew up going to a small school in Santa Fe, with a loving mother and nice enough friends. Jack didn’t need to even know in depth about David’s world (the same one that his father had existed in), but he did know now, and he didn’t blame David for a second for all of the terrible things he’d done. He was the first person ever to truly show David mercy. And now, regardless of whether Jack could’ve known or not, he was taken by the nephews of the biggest German crime family in the United States. 

No person was perfect, but Jack Kelly came pretty damn close in David’s eyes.

And now he was gone. God, he must be so scared. He didn’t deserve this life. Not for a second did he ever deserve it.

They would all pay for taking away David’s sunlight.

* * *

David left his hotel room behind. He went down a series of elevators and back doors until he ventured into the laundry area, then further down the flights of stairs into seemingly a dead end with a locked door. David pulled out a gold coin and inserted it into the inconspicuously-placed coin slot next to the door, and in a flash there were a pair of eyes staring into his. The slot in the door shut once more and the entire door opened, letting him into the bar.

The music was what hit him first. That music never changed. It was the same jazzy voice accompanied by a band of sultry-sounding instruments.

The bar had been one of the places to get a slight renovation. It still had all the charming Roaring 20’s prohibition feel, only with new decor and a bigger stage for the burlesque performers and band to play on. The lights were dim but easy enough to traverse through, and the faces around him were completely recognizable. 

He stayed away from the stage for the time being and passed by Tommy Boy for the second time in a day. They both nodded at each other in acknowledgement. Tommy smirked and raised his glass of wine to his lips as he passed by.

David continued until he found who he was looking for. In the corner of the bar, sitting in a well-lit booth, was Joseph Pulitzer himself. 

If there was one thing that hadn’t changed in this entire place, it was the owner of the World. Pulitzer still looked slightly antagonistic despite owning and managing one of the only neutral grounds for the criminal underground in all of the United States and the rest of the world. He still had the perfectly-trimmed hair and fancy, intricate suit that David had remembered from years ago. Joseph pulled off his glasses when he noticed David coming toward him, and his mouth twitched into an amused grin.

“Mr. Jacobs,” he said, gesturing for David to sit down across from him. David sunk into the seat, not once breaking eye contact.

“I must say, it’s not a surprise that you would come crawling back into the business,” Pulitzer started. “Many men placed bets to see how long your ‘retirement’ would last.” David didn’t respond to the comment.

Instead, David said, “I need to know where Snyder’s nephews are in this moment.”

Pulitzer ignored David. “Mr. Jacobs, do you realize what you are about to do?” He asked, eyes turning into slits. _“You_ were the one who made it out alive, and that would’ve been a headline made for the front pages if the underground had a newspaper,” Pulitzer chuckled, then turned serious once again. “Not everyone has the luxury of getting out. You can still walk away, live the rest of your life as a free man. As you meant for it to be, correct? Are you absolutely sure you want to do this?” 

David looked down at his wedding ring, then looked back up again. “I’m afraid it’s more personal this time, Mr. Pulitzer.”

Pulitzer sighed slightly, nodding toward him. “Jacobs.” He slid out of the booth and disappeared into the crowd of people in the bar. He was almost instantly replaced by another figure, this woman in particular wearing a stunning maroon dress with a head of curly copper hair cascading down her back. She smiled sadly down at him before sinking into the booth across from him.

Katherine Pulitzer, for the second time Davey’s ever seen, was rendered speechless. She opened her mouth, closed it, then smiled and shook her head, teeth bared in a stricken smile.

David surrendered and spoke first. “How’s Sarah?”

“She misses you.” Katherine reached her hand out across the table, and David didn’t hesitate to clasp it. He closed his eyes and shuddered against the single display of affection he had been shown since it had all started. Katherine stared at him, eyes knowing.

David choked out, “I miss her too. She’s—” 

“—Working,” Katherine finished. David nodded, and they both looked down and descended into silence. After a moment, she shook her head again. “My father filled me in. I’m so sorry.”

David stared down at the table. His hands clenched into fists. Deep down, he felt selfish for even sitting there doing nothing, but the night was young. Too young to make a move without any information whatsoever.

It wasn’t long until Katherine spoke again, looking up with fire in her eyes. “David, you could contact Sullivan and send him after Jack. I know there was—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “—the incident in Santa Fe, but I believe he _would_ get Jack back—”

“Are you really sure about that?” David lowered his voice to a hiss. “That man—he was willing to—you _goddamn_ know what he did, what he wanted _me_ to do for him. Sullivan’s a selfish fucking bastard, you _know_ that. The only reason I survived marrying Jack is because I was good at this job. Hell, _Jack_ is only alive in the first place because I was _goddamn good at this job,”_ Davey hissed. “It’s not even fair to Jack to send a man he despises to rescue him.”

“But it’s fair for _you_ to dig up all this shit that you don’t have to just to get him back?” Katherine disputed. “Sullivan could’ve killed Jack himself a long time ago, but he didn’t. Jack would hate to know that all that blood you’re about to cover your hands with is for him.”

David snapped his head up and glared, dark eyes cold as ice. “He accepted me when the blood on my hands was for myself, for people who paid my parents a high bounty for me to carry out their will. Don’t you even think of telling me I don’t _have to,_ or he doesn’t—”

Katherine cut him off. “That is _not_ what I meant, and you know it. You know Jack loves you, you’d be crazy to think _anything_ could change that. I _meant_ that he knows you did what you did to survive. You learned to be the best to _survive,_ David. You were a kid, and he knows that. I know the mafia is messy. It’s bloody. You get back in now, David, and you’ll never be able to leave.”

David sat in silence, listening to the voices in the bar and the soft huffing of Katherine’s breath. “This is for him. He’ll have to accept it. If he doesn’t, that’s his own personal decision that no one else can make for him. But I can’t just let him go like this.” Katherine huffed, opening her mouth to fire back until David cut her off. “Would you do the same for Sarah?” 

Katherine snapped her jaw shut and glared at him. “You know I can’t get involved in violence. This entire hotel would burn to the ground the moment any Pulitzer laid their hands on someone.”

David leaned forward, glaring into Katherine’s eyes. _“Bullshit._ Don’t tell me you _wouldn’t_ tear the world apart for her.” Katherine only stared at him.

“Right now, I need you to _calm down,”_ Katherine hissed. “You are going to get yourself killed immediately if you can’t figure out how to calm yourself down. If you are going to go through with this, you need to focus. You are my friend, and I do not want to see you end up dead out of a stupid mistake becuase you couldn’t get your head on straight.”

David breathed heavily, running a hand over his face. Katherine was right. “I’m out of practice, I guess.”

“I could tell by the crooked nose and bruised temples,” she sighed. “I’m not going to fault you for your decision. I know you’d give your life for him. And I know how it feels. I just want you to be smart about this so I don’t have to attend your funeral. Remember, dedication? Sheer _fuckin’_ will?” She mocked the typical New York accent.

Katherine’s father suddenly reappeared, now holding a drink in his hand. He placed a napkin on the table and placed the drink down on top of it, sliding it in front of David.

“You look like you could use a drink, son. It’s on the house.” Pulitzer inclined his head toward him. His eyes were still in slits.

David finally picked up the drink in front of him. He took a sip, but something on the napkin caught his eye. Drawn right in the center of the napkin was a little red square _._ He looked up, but Pulitzer was already gone. David looked over to Katherine, who gave him a knowing smile.

“Good luck, David,” she said, grasping his hand once again. “From the both of us.”

* * *

“Jacobs is at the World.” Wiesel turned around in the car to face Snyder.

Snyder, who was in the back seat, stared out the window. “Of course he is.”

“We have a contact there who’s willing to take him out for us. “

“That’s abrasive,” Snyder snorted. “If they’re willing to break the World rules, the bounty is double.”

* * *

There was one last person he needed to see for the night. It might have been the last place he wanted to be, but it was what he needed to do. He took his time in walking toward the stage platform, where Miss Medda was performing a song that David had never heard, and he waited until she knew he was there and beckoned him to the side door after the show was done. Her eyes were knowing, if not shocked.

“David Jacobs,” she said, “I had hoped I’d never see you again in this scene.” And that hurt, because he knew that he had let her down. 

“You’ve changed so much since the last time I saw you,” she continued. She watched as he tensed up slightly, the movement almost unnoticeable if she didn’t know what she was looking for. “You’re more—vulnerable. I wouldn’t understand it if I didn’t know Jack Kelly,” she huffed out a small laugh. “How was it?” She asked quietly, a sad smile stretching across her face.

“It was—beautiful,” David replied softly in return. “I didn’t deserve it.”

“I really think you did,” Medda replied, bringing a gentle hand up to his cheek and smoothing it down on his shoulder. He closed his eyes.

“I know you, David. And I know you would only be here for a very, _very_ good reason.” She paused. Fear filled her eyes. “My son?” 

And David burst into tears. Hot, angry tears that burned as they rolled down his cheeks. Medda simply gave a shaky sigh and gathered him into her arms. 

“I’m so sorry, I slipped up,” he cried, “I let myself believe everything could be normal and I could leave this all behind and it would never find me again, and now Jack’s _gone_ because I was too surprised to even fight back. They kidnapped him and I just laid there, fucking paralyzed, too hurt and too stupid to even move.”

“That is not true at all,” Medda brought him out to look into his eyes. “There is no one I know that is smarter than you, David. You’re so incredibly bright and brave enough to do the impossible. It’s been five years since you’ve lived this life, you have the right to react like a normal human would. And if you’re here, I know what you’re gonna do to get him back.”

David took in a deep, shaky breath, turning around and wiping the tears from his face. He was incredibly embarrassed of his reaction, but he couldn’t help it. All of that tension, that emotion, had built up on his shoulders and pressed down hard. He missed his fucking husband.

“I love Jack with all my heart, but I also need to know that you are going to do the best you can to keep yourself safe, too.” She gave him the moment to gather himself together, eyes soft. “I care about you so much, David. Both you and Jack deserve the world. I’m sorry that this is where your path brought you again, but you need to keep going.”

His shoulders shook. Medda finished. “You are so strong. I know you will find your light at the end of the tunnel. Remember what you are fighting for. You’re going to do just fine, David.” She brought him back into a hug, and he wiped the remaining tears from his eyes.

He pulled out the napkin from his pocket. _The Square._

“Thank you, Medda,” he said, looking back to the metal door. “Everything’s going to be alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Language, mentions of substance abuse (as a metaphor), alcohol
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is running out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings and translations are listed in the end notes.

David stood in the mirror, reaching for the bag holding all of his weapons. He avoided looking at the reflection of his eyes. He didn’t want to know what was there and what wasn’t anymore. 

He clipped on a bulletproof vest under his dress shirt and tie _(the intricately-designed white shirt with tiny, almost invisible black stripes and his favorite striped black tie)_ for that extra bit of protection. He slid several guns into the holster around his waist after checking to make sure they were loaded. He hid his knife in the sheath sewn into his left sock. _Jeśli chcesz pokoju, szykuj się do wojny. If you want peace, prepare for war. Si vis pacem, para bellum._ He put his suit jacket on to hide the weaponry and slight bulkiness of the vest.

David hadn’t been inside The Square since he was nineteen and had wanted to get the _hell_ out of the cesspit of drunk and high young adults tripping on the best and worst substances available to them. He was very familiar with the bathrooms, and no one had seen how he had slit the throat of the target and left him for someone else to clean up and find. _“Don’t worry if it’s too messy, I don’t care if anyone finds the body. I just want ‘em dead,” the old man had wheezed out a laugh. David sat silently. He shook the old man’s hand. He was too old for Mayer to shake hands for him._ He had left a mess, and he couldn’t bring himself to care in the slightest.

It would not be as easy this time around. He was older and wiser, but less numb and more vulnerable. That, and the fact that Snyder’s security was highly likely to be crawling all over the place would certainly not help.

David took a cab over to The Square. The driver smiled at him in the rear-view mirror. The best he could do was offer a curt nod in return. David ran through the hastily-made plan he had created over again in his head as he stepped out onto the sidewalk.

  1. _Get a way in through Snyder’s guards (killing will likely be necessary)_
  2. _Find the Delancey brothers_
  3. _Find out where Jack is (threatening will likely be necessary)_
  4. _Kill the Delancey brothers_
  5. _Try not to die_



Not the most solid plan that he’d ever created. Any plan that ends with _"t_ _ry not to die”_ was probably never a good plan in the first place. However, his experience reminded him that no matter how good a plan was, it is only a rough draft. It was entitled to change. It _would_ change. It was refreshing to have a blank slate in front of him and not have to overanalyze every single decision he made.

Time was running out. 

* * *

Oscar and Morris decided to claim the ground-level hot tub at the very end of the room, and they both decided they wanted to get sloshed and forget all about what was happening around them. Oscar walked to the end of the tub and his eyes lit up when he saw the man standing next to the ladder. 

_“Kurt, brother, come down and have a drink with us!”_ Oscar laughed, alcohol heavy on his breath. 

_“My job is not to babysit two drunk children tonight, it’s to keep the two of you alive.”_ Kurt stood up straight and tall, greying hair flashing under the neon colors. His hard blue eyes flicked over to Morris, who was leaning drunkenly against one of the women in the pool with them. His eyes never stopped looking nervous, but they had become hazy and unfocused on top of it.

“What, you’re telling me you’re scared of Jacobs too?” Oscar growled.

“It’s not me who should be scared now, _einzeller.”_ Kurt yanked the bottle of liquor out of Oscar’s grip, spilling it all over the both of them. He let the bottle drop, sending shards of glass everywhere, and he walked away cooly. 

“Get me another bottle!” Oscar demanded once he turned back to the others in the hot tub. “Get me another fuckin’ bottle _right now!”_ They all looked down in various forms of discomfort until one of the women in the pool rushed out, eyes wide and perturbed. “We’re not fucking scared of ‘em! Jacobs can go fuck himself!”

* * *

It might have just been sheer luck that David had seen three of Snyder’s men arrive (all three of them that had also been present on the night of Jack’s kidnapping, he noticed in the back of his mind) and he followed them in the shadows and the scaffolding and watched as they entered through a back door. The entrance was guarded by a man, who opened the door and let them in. Fortunately for David, he also recognized said man.

David cocked his gun. He held the gun up to the back of the man’s head.

 _“Hello, Vince.”_ David greeted levelly in German.

Vince didn't even have to turn around to recognize the sound of his voice. _“Mr. Jacobs.”_ His voice shook uncontrollably.

 _“I can’t believe it’s already Friday_ _night,"_ David tutted. _"What are you planning on doing this weekend, Vince?”_ David asked.

The man gulped. _“I’m going to take my kids to the movies and take my wife out to dinner. It’s her birthday,”_ he answered.

 _“That’s very nice. And they say romance is dead,”_ David joked drily. Then, switching back to English, he suggested, “Why don’t you take the rest of the night off, Vince?”

The man nodded slowly and took out his earpiece, turning to David. “Thank you, Mr. Jacobs.”

“Have a nice night, Vince.”

“You as well, sir.” David let himself in quickly through the door, and he couldn’t have been less surprised when it led to the men’s bathroom. He was incredibly familiar with this scene. David pressed up against the wall, listening to the churlish laughter and teasing German voices. He waited for the conversation to lull as he advanced on one of the men just exiting one of the shower, the other blissfully unaware. He clamped a hand around the man’s mouth and swiftly jabbed his knife into his ear, letting his body sink to the ground just as the other man noticed through the mirror.

The man instantly raised a frantic hand to his earpiece, but was stopped when a hand grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his head against the ceramic sink. He groaned in pain, spitting up blood, and tried to fight back until he found himself in a chokehold.

 _“Where are the Delanceys?”_ David interrogated harshly in German. He held his arms tighter as the man spat up blood and tried to slam their heads together. It didn’t work.

“Fuck you!” The man shouted, trying and failing to pull the arms away from his throat. He started to gasp for air.

 _“Where are they?!”_ David raised his voice in anger and pressed his knee into the other man’s, making him sink lower into the ground and lose even more air.

“Basement! Hot tub room, downstairs!” The man choked on his own blood, gagging and spitting. 

The arms loosened for the smallest moment as David’s other hand grasped around his neck. David brought his mouth close to the man’s ear. _“You stole my car,”_ Slam, directly onto the ceramic sink. _“You killed my dog,”_ Slam. _“And you kidnapped my husband.”_ He held the man’s head over the sink water, which had risen to the top and bubbled at the sides with scented soap. David’s wrists folded over each other in the shape of an X to keep the man still. The man choked on the water, his face submerging just under the surface.

 _"Fuck you,"_ the man spat out his last words, choking on the cool water, and David finally snapped his neck and let the body sink to the ground. He grabbed the man’s phone next to the sink and pocketed it before exiting the bathroom.

The club’s music swirled and lilted around him, flashing reds and blues pervading his vision. In the basement, the lights were nowhere near being dull, but the neon was far softer and so was the music. The atmosphere was meant to be much more sultry than the dance floor was. It was borderline entrancing with the soft thrumming in the back of his mind, but there was no time to be intoxicated by The Square’s atmosphere. He glanced behind one of the curtains, through the glass wall, and sure enough there was a row of hot tubs, all with bodies in tiny bathing suits and fancy champagne glasses in hand. 

David moved forward. He took down all of the men milling around in suits completely silently, leaving only the silhouettes of the bodies falling to the ground in his wake. From around the corner, he heard a gruff voice in German report, _“Basement is clear,”_ Before David went through and attacked him. All it took was multiple stabs to the gut before he went down, and David looked him in the eye and supported him as the energy drained from his body. He felt nothing.

David was much closer. He glared through the bookcase-sized towel shelf and spotted what he was looking for. There were the Delancey brothers, Oscar with a girl in his arms and Morris standing off to the side, swaying drunkenly. His heart jumped at the sight, and it was that small moment of distraction that caught him off guard for the man who walked through the door. 

The man instantly pulled out his gun, shouting in surprise, and they fought for several moments before the man had taken advantage of David’s moment of weakness and hauled him up around the knees, ramming him into the shelf and knocking it over. David shot up almost immediately after, this time taking advantage of the other man’s distraction by attacking first. He heard panicked shouts of _“Der Czernobog ist da!”_

_Damnit._

He struggled to fight against the man who had caught him in surprise, but they both came at each other fiercely, using their own martial arts skills to get the upper hand. David was the one who came out on top. He held a hand around the back of the man’s throat before more men came towards him. He afforded himself five seconds at the most to shoot the other men before he moved back to the man underneath him. He gave him a swift blow to the head, silencing him forever. 

He looked back up to the pool in a swift moment. He would not be able to reach them in time, not without opening up his back and becoming target practice for the security. He made eye contact with Oscar for a solid five seconds before being rammed to his side by another man from Snyder’s security. A second, then a third, then a fourth joined the fray.

They had already vanished from the pool. He couldn’t make it.

_Shit._

David scanned the room and saw the brothers running toward the basement’s exit. There was a line of glass between him and them. He reached into his pocket to pull out his heavier-duty gun and shot at the glass, hitting the panels one by one but just barely missing every time. He clenched his jaw in a furious frustration, but continued on. More men kept coming, and he had no choice but to take down every single one. He was running out of time.

He followed the brothers up the stairs and climbed up the steps two at a time, barely avoiding the shots fired through the glass. He heard a trail of curses disappear behind him as he ascended to the dance floor. 

The floor was an absolutely insane mesh of people with black and white spirals and squares covering the screens, all of the different lights ringing to the back of his head. The insanely loud techno music vibrated in his ears and pushed through his senses, as if it were peeling back layers of sanity. It was all incredibly _big,_ but he worked through the crowd of dancing men and women, most who were likely tripping on acid to notice anything wrong. 

The brothers were too far away and moving around too much to take a steady shot at them without hitting a civilian, so he waited and continued to stalk them like a beast hunting its prey. Oscar grabbed one of the men dressed in black, Snyder’s security, and he pushed the man forward in David’s direction while shouting loudly. Morris looked ready to disappear completely, but before David could notice anything else there were more men in front of him to take care of. Without any warning, he started firing off at the men and no one in the crowd took notice. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the brothers disappeared back into another room, Oscar dragging Morris by the arm, and David razed down the men in his way in order to follow. 

Just outside the dance floor was a room completely different from the others. It was covered in a crisp, pale light with expensive red velvet furniture. There was no time to take in any more details, because as soon as he entered he was forced to stop several men. He was on the sixth person before he ran out of ammunition. 

_Shit, shit, shit._

He punched the man square in the face and knocked him upside the head with the barrel of his gun, disorienting him completely and giving David enough time to reload his gun. _Chest shot, then head shot. Deep breaths. Keep your core strong. Remember your body mechanics. Use any means necessary._

The pattern he fell into came as easily to him as writing his own name. Another room, another few targets. It didn’t stop. He found the brothers again and pushed through the crowd of civilians, all screaming in fear but wisely staying out of his way. The brothers disappeared through the kitchens, and he made to follow them yet again before he was dragged down by one of Snyder’s men. He threw the man to the side but stopped when he felt his arm light up in searing pain. 

_Fuck._ One, two, bullets pierced through his arm and one in his abdomen, but there was no time to focus on the unbearable sting, not with the rush of adrenaline that made it possible to toss his concern to the side. He raised his gun and fired up angrily at the man with grey hair and blue eyes, not managing to land a single shot. He turned and pressed himself up against the wall, clenching his jaw in pain and pressing a hand to the wound on his abdomen. The man was close enough for it to go through the vest. It would not kill him, likely because of how close to the surface it still was, but _fuck, it hurt._

He waited in silence until the man rounded the corner. He yelled and tackled the man, and they started their fighting and punching and kicking and hurting. The pain became so much when the man smashed a champagne glass over his shoulder that he practically let himself be hauled over the man’s shoulder and thrown over the railing. 

David landed _hard_ on the ground, knocking the wind out of him and sending a lance of pain into his already spinning head and back. Stars flashed behind his closed eyelids. He took a second (one that didn't last nearly long enough) to orient himself on the cold dance floor. The lights continued to flash incessantly, the white light turning into a crescendo around him. He grabbed the gun that had clattered next to him. He looked up. Fired one, two, three shots at the man with grey hair and blue eyes and missed every single time. Everyone left. He hauled himself off the floor, taking a moment to assess himself before he followed the screaming crowd spilling out into the street. He felt the phone he stole from the man in the bathroom start to ring in his pocket. He answered.

 _“Franz, where the_ fuck _are you?”_ It was Oscar Delancey’s voice. He sounded scared. David heard the squealing of tires from the other end.

“Franz is dead,” David answered. _“Everything’s got a price, bitch.”_ He threw the phone to the side, letting it shatter on the pavement. 

David fucked up badly. 

He ran out of time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Substance use, language, gun violence, murder, injury
> 
> Einzeller - a German insult meaning ‘single brain cell’  
> “Der Czernobog ist da!” - “The Czernobog is here!”
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David deals with some uninvited guests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

David limped through the doors of the World, pressing a shaking hand into his abdomen to cover the wound.

The lobby was mostly empty at this time of night, with only about a handful of people returning from jobs, all quickly retiring to their rooms. Hannah still sat on her swivel stool behind the front desk, filling out sheets of paperwork with drooping eyes. She looked up when she heard David approach and her eyes widened at the sight of him.

“Are the Sisters in?” David instantly asked.

Hannah shrugged a shoulder but nodded her head, sliding the paperwork in front of her to the side. “Not the nuns anymore, but yes, the Doctor is here. They’re always in, even at this hour. I’ll call them for you.”

"Thank you," David nodded. Then, he asked, “How good is the laundry here?”

She scanned him over, taking notice of the bloody spots and tears in his dress shirt and suit jacket, and she quirked an eyebrow. “Sorry to say, but I don’t think anyone is _that_ good.” Then, she asked, “Should I have a bottle sent down as well? …Or two?”

“That would be lovely. Thank you very much, Hannah,” David answered, tipping his head forward slightly. He ignored the concerned look on her face and turned around to carry himself down the corridor.

He limped down until he reached the door he was looking for, the sketchiest area of the building nearing the basement area. He knocked twice before the door swung open.

“David,” JoJo De La Guerra stood in front of the opened door, just barely having finished shrugging on a doctor’s coat. Their eyes grazed all over David’s body, checking for any surface injuries. They took notice of the blood and said, “Jesus, come in. I don’t want you standing any longer.”

David chuckled, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. “Hi, JoJo.” He let JoJo help him onto the exam table set up in the center of the room, which was much better furnished than the outside made it out to be. They glided over to the shelves quickly after, rummaging through them for their tools.

“It’s just the two shots to the arm, one in the abdomen, and that shoulder injury that you know of right now?” JoJo asked, their back still facing David.

“Yes,” David answered.

JoJo explained to him what they were going to do, and David let his head fall back against the inclined back of the table. He barely noticed as JoJo placed the bottle of liquor in his hand, and he hardly remembered grabbing and holding onto it before bringing it up to his lips and chugging.

JoJo glanced up to look at David’s expression, and when they saw it was grimaced, they decided to fill the empty space with conversation.

“It’s been a really long time since you came down here as a patient. What, you were only here one, two, three times?” 

David closed his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain. “Five times, actually,” he had answered. He could never forget being fourteen and having twenty-three shards of glass pulled out from his back. Back then, there was no alcohol to get him through the pain, no parent’s hand to hold, only mild numbing agents that didn’t settle the sick unease rising in his chest. _The pain reminds you to not make the same mistake twice, Dawid._

“When did you take over?” David asked, remembering how JoJo had always stood behind the shoulders of the women dressed as nuns, listening as they were explaining what they were doing in a clipped and rushed Spanish. Every single time David had visited, they were there, looking on in interest and enthusiasm. If they were able to, and the wounds were bad enough, they were always there to hold a hand. It was a distinct difference from the nuns, who were strict and firm and the complete opposite of JoJo.

JoJo sighed. “About a year ago. Sister Rosita passed away and Sister Tonia decided to retire and leave the job to me.” JoJo spoke levelly as they plucked out the bullets with precision. They dropped them in a tray next to the exam table and reached over to grab the supplies to stitch up the wounds. They paused before they went any further. “Are you sure you don’t want to take anything? I can always give you a small dose of anesthetic.”

David hummed. “I’ve got it covered,” he swayed the bottle of liquor in his free hand slightly, “but thank you, JoJo.” They nodded and set to work. David hissed when he felt the needle stitch through his skin.

Time crawled on incredibly, painfully slow, but if it were anyone beside JoJo it would’ve felt a lot longer. JoJo continued to fill the empty space with conversation to distract David from the blinding pain in his side and his arm. They continued until JoJo finally finished up after patching his shoulder and went through a quick run-through for any other injuries. They grabbed a container of pills on the tray, reading the label twice.

“I’d much prefer you stay away from much fighting as you can, but I know that’s very unlikely with you.” They passed the container over to David. “Take two of these before you engage in any business. You’ll have full function, but _please_ try to take it easy. I don’t want you ripping any more stitches than I know you will.”

JoJo helped David get back to his room, and the stinging, uncomfortable feeling in his abdomen only tightened with the walk. Thank God there was an elevator for service use near the infirmary area, which they absolutely took advantage of. It had been five years, but JoJo still listened and responded in turn better than any human being David had ever met in all of his experience. 

“Thank you, JoJo,” David said, letting his eyes express his gratitude when they reached David’s room.

JoJo looked back, eyes sad. “Yeah, it’s nothing, Dave.” They let a block of silence linger in the air. “Keep yourself safe, okay?”

The last words were met with a nod. David unlocked the door and closed it behind him, leaving JoJo out in the hallway. He barely took the time to throw his dress shirt and jacket over the back of a nearby chair and strip down to his underwear before he let himself sink down onto the bed, not bothering to pull the sheets over himself.

* * *

Crutchie set down the guitar case on the ledge of the building and clicked open the lid, pulling out the parts to his sniper rifle, setting it up piece by piece to point in the direction of David’s hotel room window. The uncomfortable feeling in his chest hadn’t eased the entire time he was on this particular job, from when he had found out vital information on where David was and what he had done that night.

He didn't know why he agreed to play along with Snyder. Crutchie was never a vengeful person. In all of his years of working in the business, he never once hurt someone out of his own anger. He tried to stay away from people he knew to be innocent of crimes. That was how he got along. So why was he doing this? David had done nothing that he didn’t have to do, especially not now. Yet there Crutchie was, watching David through the scope of his rifle.

Even from the distance, Crutchie could tell he was hurt badly. The bandages were not hidden well under the white tee shirt, and there were still bloodstains on the surface. The wounds were a new sight on him, along with the crooked nose. It was unsettling. It was also incredibly discouraging.

David was attempting to fall into a fitful sleep, from what he could tell. He had never slept easily back when Crutchie knew him, but he wasn’t sure if it had more to do with the injuries than it did with his own mind keeping him awake in the moment. He was as stiff as a statue, very obviously lying on the far left side of the bed.

Crutchie had a perfect shot. Perfect. It would not take much to receive the two million dollar bounty. David would go out quickly if he did, probably better than anything else he would face if he continued on like this. But Crutchie knew about David’s husband, knew he was being hidden somewhere by the Delanceys. God knows what would happen to Jack Kelly if Crutchie took the shot.

David looked different. It wasn’t just the years away talking, it was a tangible energy. He was disappointed in himself, he saw it in the way his brow tightened when he felt the empty space next to him.

Goddamn it, David was a married man with a husband he was worried for. That was what it was. David was human.

(It wasn’t the kind of human he was when he spent his nights with Crutchie. _That_ David always pulled back, always leaned away when he realized he was too close, but then he leaned closer in retaliation when the chain around his neck was pulled tighter. Crutchie watched as it happened and let it be. It was _teenage rebellion,_ David had murmured. It was the quick grasp of a human emotion, yanking on it like a rabid dog fighting for a bone.)

Revenge really wasn’t worth it, Crutchie knew as he stared at David through the scope of his rifle. They weren’t children anymore. Crutchie didn’t hold any grudges on David, because they had both seen the end of them coming. He had let it go years ago.

That didn’t stop him from pointing the target directly at David’s head. His eyes were closed. Crutchie could take the shot. It would be painless, like sleep. It would be so easy to get the job done.

But he couldn’t. Two million was never going to be enough to get Crutchie to kill David Jacobs, the enigma. Not when he saw the shadowy figure gliding against the side of the wall with the silhouette of a gun in their hand.

Crutchie’s brain short-circuited for a short moment before he pulled the trigger.

* * *

David jumped out of his skin when a bullet whizzed through his window, past his ear, and planted itself firmly into the pillow next to his head. He rolled out of the bed, heart pounding erratically only to be shot at again once he was up.

“Hey, David,” The voice called from the shadow pressed up against the wall, finally stepping out into the light with a gun cocked and aimed straight at him.

 _Jesus._ It was Tommy Boy. He kept shooting at David, who ducked for cover and slid to reach a hand-combat distance. He had foolishly left his gun on the kitchen table next to his dress shirt and jacket. 

_Shit._ Never mind that. There was no damn time to crucify himself for it, not now. Instead what he did was yank at the belt still in the loops of his dress pants thrown on the floor next to his bed until he finally freed it.

“Thomas,” he snarled. He rushed to Tommy Boy, belt in hand, and he slammed him up against the wall, pinning his gun hand to the wall with his knee and knocking it out of his grip. They struggled against each other for a matter of seconds, David’s belt held up to Tommy’ neck. “Thought no business was conducted on World grounds,” David hissed out, winded.

“Snyder doubled the bounty to break the rules,” Tommy Boy smirked. “You were always such a _pussy,”_ he jeered, spitting and sliding around until he had the upper hand. He jumped on David’s back, rolled around and wrestled him on the bed until he was in the position to take his wrist and slam it repeatedly into David’s abdomen, not enough to tear the stitches but enough to draw blood. The red filtered through the white shirt and stained Tommy’s jacket sleeve.

David gritted his teeth in pain, biting down on his tongue when the movement jostled his jaw. He slammed his head back into Tommy’s and that second gave him the time to swivel around and attack from the front. They rolled across the room, slamming each other into furniture, shattering glass shelves and vases. The room was absolutely trashed by the time the phone started to ring incessantly. 

Tommy Boy jumped on David’s back again, and David yanked him over and slammed him down into the table before he grabbed a sheet off the bed and wrapped it around his head. Tommy Boy struggled against the sheet, choking momentarily before David took his fist and started ramming it into Tommy’s head. He hauled him up and threw Tommy into the glass panel, sending him sprawled out on the ground underneath all of the shards, and David rushed over to answer the phone.

“Yes?”

 _“Hi, Mr. Jacobs,”_ Hannah’s voice echoed through the phone. _“I’m terribly sorry to call you at this hour, but we’ve received a number of noise complaints from other guests on your floor coming from your room.”_

“My apologies,” David replied. “I was just dealing with an uninvited guest.”

 _“I’m very sorry to hear that, sir,”_ Hannah lamented. _“Will you be needing a dinner reservation for tonight?”_

David looked toward the door, where Tommy Boy had started crawling out into the hallway, hunching over himself in pain. He answered, “I’m not exactly sure yet. I’ll have to get back to you.”

_“Of course. Have a good night, David.”_

“You as well, Hannah.” He hung up the phone, grabbed his gun, and followed Tommy out into the hallway. 

David grabbed him from behind, dragged him halfway up, and held the gun to Tommy’s temple. “Where are the Delanceys?” David snarled.

“Fuck you,” Tommy sneered, spitting out blood. “You really think I’d tell you?”

David pressed harder, clicking the safety off. “Do you really wanna die here, Thomas?” Tommy pinched his eyes shut. “Give me some information and I’ll let you live.”

Tommy Boy shuddered against David’s grip, gritting his teeth until he groaned and spat out, “Lower East Side. There’s a church, in the old Little Germany—where Snyder keeps his private stash. It’s a front.”

“Thank you,” David said, and he put the safety back on and slammed the back of the gun into Tommy’s head, knocking him out immediately. Then, there was another noise down the hallway behind David. It was a click. He froze, instantly recognizing the noise as someone holding a gun with the safety removed.

The voice was familiar. “Do I know you?” The man asked, and David tilted his head to the side.

“I think you do.” He answered and held his hands up in the air, turning around slowly. 

The other man’s face melted into a look of recognition. “Hey, Dave,” he said as he eased the grip on his gun.

“Albert. It’s good to see you.” Albert DaSilva stood in the hallway emerging from one of the other rooms, dressed in only his underwear and a hastily thrown-on shirt. The redhead cracked a smile.

“You alright?” Albert asked, stepping out further.

“I’m fine. Ran into Tommy Boy tonight.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we’ve all been there with him. Want me to leave you to it?”

David paused. “Actually, what would you think about earning a coin tonight? Just babysitting.” 

Albert eyed the body slumped on the floor. “Catch and release?”

“Catch and release,” David echoed. 

Albert shrugged before nodding. “Sure, anything for an old friend. You gonna be good?” He asked.

David nodded. “Yeah, I will. Thank you, Albert.”

They both dragged Tommy Boy into Albert’s room, Albert producing a set of handcuffs and locking him to the chair with his hands behind his back. They shook hands and David grabbed a coin for him before heading to his own room to get cleaned up for the morning. 

He swept up the minimum amount of shattered glass around the room and cleaned up the blood, combing back his hair and dressing in an all-black suit (the spare, since he had absolutely ruined his favorite earlier on in the night).

Lower East Side, church where Little Germany used to be.

He was going to make it all burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Injury, medication, alcohol use, language, gun violence
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David burns everything down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

The old German Cathedral stood tall and grand in front of David, looming over him ominously. 

It was a dark place, washed with grey and stained glass windows warped into a dirty golden brown. It was inconspicuous. It made all the sense in the world to David. No one would ever imagine a place of worship being such a dirty little cover up. It worked, as far as he could tell.

With hardened eyes, David reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of pills JoJo had given him, swallowing down two and pushing back the feeling of disgust at the metallic taste. Then, he pushed through the giant double doors at the front of the church. They creaked almost comically ominously, but the sound was quickly replaced with a jovial organ tune, one he didn’t recognize. With razor-sharp focus, he strode forward, passing the quiet individuals with heads bowed in prayer. He headed straight for the priest, the old man dressed in white and green robes.

“My son,” the thick, accented voice called to him. His arms were outstretched, his smile welcoming. “What can I—”

David pulled out his shotgun from his jacket and fired directly at the priest’s lower leg. One of the men sitting in the pews stood up and drew his own gun, but David wasted no time in shooting the man’s head, and he whipped around and scanned the balcony before firing once again, hearing the _thump_ of the sniper’s body fall to the floor. The priest cursed angrily behind him, spatting in German. David continued to take down Snyder’s men scattered among the pews, and once the last two were down he turned back to the priest.

 _“Do you have any idea who you’re fucking with?”_ The man cursed, clamping a wrinkled hand over the red-stained robes covering his leg. 

David stood over him. “Ja,” he snapped, and dragged the priest up by his robes. “Let’s go to the vault,” he suggested coldly, ignoring as the old man shook and gasped in pain.

He herded the priest down into a small, concrete stairway and quickly glanced around the corner. He fired two quick shots and took down the two guards blocking the entrance to the cold metal barring in the piles of money. He grabbed the priest again, shoving him down and in front of the keypad attached to the gate. “Open it,” David ordered.

The man scoffed. _“Do you think you can scare me into opening the gate?”_ He sneered, face scrunched up in pain.

David cocked his gun. _“Yes, I do. Open it.”_

The priest grasped at the gate with bloodied hands. “Syder will kill me,” he pleaded in English.

Suddenly, one of the men from behind David stood up. _How the fuck did he miss?_ David turned around, knocked the man upside the head, and shot him directly in the head. “Oh, he will?” David asked flatly, spinning back to point his gun at the priest.

The man glared at him for a moment, shaking his head in anger before he punched out the code. The gate door swung open, and the two accountants in the vault stood up and ran out of the gate, hands in the air and shaking out of fright.

“Ladies,” David nodded, holding out a hand to let them pass. _“Have a nice day,”_ he called behind himself in German. He stepped through the gate, yanked open all the drawers filled with money, paper evidence, and burned disks, and piled them on the ground around him. The vault floor was quickly filled with all of the success David had given Snyder’s in the first place. He found it was incredibly easy to take back.

“What do you plan to do with all of that money?!” The priest shouted at him, still fuming from behind the gate.

“This,” David said, and he pulled out the fire grenade attached around his waist, pulling the pin and tossing it nonchalantly into the pile of cash and blackmail. He turned around and walked out, listening as the fire grew in a building crescendo and not caring in the slightest.

* * *

David stood on the top of a building positioned behind the old cathedral, inching as close as he dared to the side as he watched a swarm of black vehicles pull into the parking lot. A mob of men had already swarmed around, pacing in their black suits as they waited for the man of the hour to arrive, and he did, in a fit of burning hot rage. 

Snyder was out of his car as soon as it stopped, shouting, _“Where is that fucking idiot?”_ David watched as he and a group of about five men stood in a circle around the priest, and without warning one of the men lifted a gun and shot him down. The priest fell in a heap of green and white robes.

David left the roof as the priest’s body was dragged away.

* * *

“Jesus, Tommy Boy, why do you do this shit to yourself?” Albert sneered. He hardly gave Tommy a true glance, busying himself with packing his belongings.

“Makes it easier to do business, having no friends,” Tommy said in return, an annoyed grin stretching across his face like an elastic band ready to snap. His hands were still locked together behind his back facing away from Albert’s line of sight, and he bit the inside of his lip.

 _Crack._ Tommy pushed on his left thumb with his right to dislocate it, and he closed his eyes to control the sharp pain lancing up his hand. He slipped his left hand out of the cuffs, and keeping it behind his back, he asked cooly, “How would you like to earn another coin, Albert?”

Albert scoffed, crossing the room to get closer to Tommy. “You broke the rules, man. _And_ you tried to kill an old friend of mine. You know I go back with Jacobs. No fuckin’ way am I letting you go.” Then, he smiled, leaning in close to his face. “Don’t worry, housekeeping will find you.”

Tommy only smiled cruelly back, before he slammed his head into Albert’s, causing him to stumble back in shock onto the edge of the bed. He held his head in pain for a moment too long, because Tommy Boy launched forward and pressed all his weight onto him, grabbed one of the bed pillows, reached into Albert’s pocket for his gun, and shot him in the head. The struggling ceased immediately, the limp body sinking slowly to the floor, and Tommy smirked.

“Don’t worry,” he remarked. “Housekeeping will find you.” 

He reached into Albert’s pocket one last time, fishing out the coin that Jacobs had given him hardly hours ago, and Tommy Boy sauntered out of the blood-stained room. He left Albert’s body in a heap on the ground, pillow fallen away to reveal a horrified face with cold, dead eyes.

* * *

 _“Shit!”_ Snyder shouted in anger. “Can we ever recover from this?!” He yelled, turning to Wiesel with a red face and clenched fists.

Wiesel stepped back. “You know what was in that vault,” he said, holding his hands out in innocence. Snyder cursed again, slamming his fist into his side in anger.

A short sound blasted off somewhere behind them. The three guards behind Snyder and Wiesel collapsed to the cement when a swift three shots had been fired off. 

David stepped out as the two surviving men took cover behind their vehicles, and more guards and assassins stepped out, firing at him. David took his own cover behind the remaining vehicles and buildings, stopping only once to reload. The world came down on him in a hail of gunfire, and all he could do was pick off the ones in sight. He had to adjust positions when he ran out of targets in sight, just like he would’ve done years ago. It was unavoidable, he told himself. He couldn’t mess up. 

He scanned the roofs, the windows, the cars, and moved on when it was only empty space staring back at him. He heard shouts of, _“Cover me!”_ but it lost all meaning only five seconds later, when more gunfire came down on him. _Take down as many as you can._ _It shows that you are ruthless, and it pays to be unrelenting in this business. Do you understand, Dawid?_

David heard the sound of car tires screeching on his left. Something hard rammed into his side, sending him rolling onto the car's windshield and onto the ground in front of it. He slammed his head hard on impact, knocking the wind out of his chest and disorienting him to a nearly blinding state. 

David groaned, attempting to push his arms out in front of him, blinking back against the fizzing in his vision and the burning in his side, but his limbs failed him and he collapsed back down to the gravel. Two, three, four men stood around him, shadow-like, reaching for him.

The world around him shuddered and snapped into black.

* * *

 _“Davey, my darling,” A sing-song voice called from behind him, lilting and smooth. “Can you look at me for a second?_ Mírame, mi corazón.”

 _Davey opened his eyes, stinging in the nearly blinding sunlight, and turned around to see a man with a halo over his head. He was armed with a paintbrush dipped in bright orange paint, a bright and wicked smile etched onto his face. Davey stood up from where he knelt hovering over the iris plants and he backed up slowly, a warning on his face. “Jack,_ don’t you dare!”

 _Jack ignored him and crept closer. “Don’t I dare what,_ ángel?” _His smirk morphed into what Jack must’ve thought was a convincing innocent smile, something way too pinched at the edges to be any kind of saint-like._

_Davey continued to backpedal in the grass, trying and failing to push the smile bubbling up in his chest back down. “Jack, I swear to God! Just go back to painting the wheelbarrow, please!” Davey shot his head around, eyes desperately scanning for something to protect himself with._

There. _The spare paintbrush was resting on the paint tray, stained a vibrant blue. He glanced back at Jack, who saw where his gaze landed and burst into a full sprint toward Davey, laughing in hilarity. Davey dashed to the side and grabbed the paintbrush, sloshing it into the can of paint next to him, holding it out like a sword in front of him. Jack skidded to a stop just inches away from Davey’s ‘weapon,’ broad shoulders shaking in breathless laughter._

_“Do you yield, babe?” Davey called out, a smile stretching across his face so wide that it hurt._

_“You think I’d ever yield to_ you, _Mr. Jacobs-Kelly?" Jack jested, raising his brush up high above his head and bringing it down on Davey’s outstretched arm. Davey gasped dramatically, swinging forward and catching the underside of Jack’s arm. They attacked each other wildly, spraying orange and blue paint all over themselves and the freshly-trimmed grass._

_In a rush of motion, they were on the ground, laughing breathlessly and gazing up into the impossibly blue sky under tangled legs. The fizz of excitement bubbling on the corners of David’s mind melted down, smoothing itself over in a calm, dazed fashion. The lightness in his head and chest built upon itself when he turned his head to the side to meet a pair of beautiful clay-brown eyes and a rosy smile._

_“Jack,” be breathed out, reaching out a paint-stained hand to caress his warm cheek, just along the side of his lips. Jack lifted a hand to hold it over Davey’s own resting on his cheek._

_“I love you,” Jack told him. His eyes squinted in his smile, so bright and so beautiful and so understanding and so_ Jack. 

_Davey took a deep breath full of fluttering summertime. “Jack,” he sighed softly. “I—”_

_The ground gave out underneath them._

_Then, Jack’s face changed. His sun-kissed skin paled and became aged beyond years he had yet to see, his warm brown eyes warped into a hardened blue. His hair grayed and shortened into a military cut and his smile twisted into something predatory._

_Then, he opened his mouth and spoke. “They say your boychik is one of the best, Mayer.”_

_David’s father sat next to him in the hard leather office chair, looming beside him with a firm grip on his shoulder. “He is. You said you need this job done quietly? He is the best out of all our family at that.”_

_Francis Sullivan nodded. “Good. I gave the wrong person the wrong job the last time, I need to make sure this mess gets cleaned up as easily as possible.” He leaned backward in his chair, lazily tossing a coin in the air and catching it. “The Czernobog, hmm? I’m not one for dabbling outside of my own family, I tend to keep my money in one place, but this needs to be done by the best. And your family is the_ best.” _His lazy smile flattened out into a hard frown. “I need all evidence gone. Santa Fe, New Mexico. How many days will it take you? Should I expect three days tops?”_

_“I find it easier to do the job in the city,” David finally spoke with a stinging throat. It wasn’t a lie. David had been sent all over the world, yet he preferred to stay home much more than anything else. He could blend into the city so easily, easier than the hayfields and the quiet, echoing town halls._

_“Are you saying you can’t do it?” Sullivan leaned back, a challenging sneer stretching across his face. David only stared back at him. He was unbelievably tired._

_“Of course he can do it,” Mayer gripped David’s shoulder harder, pressing into the hollow spot in his collarbone. David did nothing in return. Mayer continued. “Anywhere, anytime. You’ve heard his reputation, have you not? David is the best of the best. He’s as spotless as they come. You won’t find anyone better for this job, or any other job.”_

_A beat passed. “Alright, kid, you’re hired. One-way ticket to Santa Fe, enough money to buy a ticket home, lodging, food, everything is all covered. I’ll give you three days. There will be some backup there if you need it, but I’m not expecting you to. Just focus on getting the job done as quickly as possible, son.” Sullivan smiled. He turned toward Mayer. “As soon as he returns, the money’s yours, Mr. Jacobs.”_

_Mayer nodded, a charismatic smile stretching across his face. “Of course. He shouldn’t even need three days. Even his international jobs usually take less than a week; he was in Latvia for only a day and a night before coming home. He completed the job in a_ farming village. _I assure you, Santa Fe will be child’s play for him,” his father accentuated deeply._

_David sat in silence. He despised going out of town. He despised these men, who pretended like he wasn’t there, who made him do the job but paid his parents for his success. He stayed in his seat as the two men stood up, shaking each other’s hands. He was so tired._

_“Pleasure doing business with you, Mayer.”_

_“You as well, Francis. Say hello to the wife for me.”_

_“Likewise. How’s your youngest doing?”_

_“Oh, Les is very much like I was at his age. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on a gun. It’s quite funny, actually, since the other two are so much like Esther.” David’s blood boiled, spatting angrily in the cavity in his chest. His parents would never know that Les broke into David's and Sarah’s room on his ninth birthday, sobbing his eyes out and recalling a detailed description of his “target,” the way he begged Les with his eyes not to do it. How he practically told him that children shouldn’t be playing with guns._

_Sullivan laughed, all teeth. Like a shark. “Well, he sounds like he brings a lot of life to your house.”_

_“He certainly does. How about you get first pick as soon as he’s thirteen? I know we had a lot of success with Sarah’s first job, I figured I could extend the offer again.”_

_“As long as he’s not as expensive as this one was at his age, couldn’t even find the means to afford him until now,” Sullivan jerked a thumb in David’s direction. David clenched his jaw so tight that it creaked. “My friend, it’s really quite incredible just how young you are able to start them off. I can’t even get my thirteen year-old to listen to his tutor.”_

_“You focus on making him boss one day, and we’ll provide you with assassins. Almost a hundred years and counting have the Jacobs done this business, on both sides of the ocean. It’s in our blood.”_

_“I’m really believing it has to be.”_

_David’s father gripped his shoulder again, silently warning him to stand up. He followed the subtle order, knees pushing back the chair legs that scraped against the hardwood floor._

* * *

The legs of a chair slammed into the concrete floor right in front of David. 

He jerked his head upright, knocked out of his unconscious state. He blinked his dark eyes rapidly, trying to focus over the woozy feeling clouding his head. His ears felt like they had been stuffed with cotton, and so did his mouth. The world stretched over David with a hazy sheen, covered with foggy glass. He tried to pull his arms out in front of him, but they were locked tightly behind his back. They wouldn’t move. God, _everything hurt._

“David _fuckin’_ Jacobs,” a voice drawled. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

The room—no, it was an old warehouse, he noticed—was tainted a darker yellow, brown-ish sheen, much like aging book pages. The windows were covered with a yellowing newspaper and bright fluorescent lights shone down on them to make up for the lack of light coming from the widows. 

Snyder sat in the chair that was slammed down in front of David, the guards towering over their shoulders. He laughed slightly, somewhat unhinged, brushing his hands off. “The same burning _passion,_ that _fire,_ that righteous rage!" Snyder shrugged off his coat, looking nearly giddy. “I’ve only seen that once from you once before, and it was a very—well, _defining_ —moment of my life. I can say you’re still very much the same David Jacobs of old,” he jeered.

“Am I?” David asked, meeting Snyder’s eyes. The pain in his back was so tight that he found it difficult to sit up straight in the chair.

Snyder sighed. “Times will change, but people never will.” He leaned forward. “Millions of dollars you burned today, records, blackmail, the entire leverage I had over this city. Priceless information, fuckin’ _priceless!”_ Snyder shot out of the chair, shaking his fist incessantly in front of David to express his rage.

David paused for a moment, letting the words process in his cloudy mind. His lips curled upward just slightly at the corners, the ghost of a smile lingering. “I enjoyed it,” he just barely forced out the words through clumsy lips. Snyder stared at him blankly before he chuckled down at David, and suddenly his fist clenched and he struck David in the jaw. 

David careened to the side of the chair and stilled, letting his head hang limply as he attempted to push back the nausea bubbling in his head from the vertigo. The back of his mind was setting off a series of warning bells, all telling him to move and grab the closest gun, or to lift his head up and use the chair as leverage against all these men. Whatever it takes to get free while keeping your head. _Move, now._ _Move. Get up, Dawid, move._

All he could do was sit there, paralyzed with pain. Of course, until he was pulled upright in the chair by one of the men behind him. David groaned in pain, spitting out flecks of blood from his bitten lip.

Snyder shook his head in disbelief. “Look, Jacobs, I’m sorry about my nephews and your husband, I really am. But if the rumors I’ve heard are true, you should’ve known when you married a bastard child that something was bound to happen!” There was a rumble of laughter from the men around him, and he clenched his fists behind his back. “People like you and I, Jacobs?” He gestured between the two of them. “We're cursed. Haunted, with an incredible burden to bear. We will never be able to atone for our sins, not in a thousand lifetimes.” Snyder sat back down in the chair in front of David. “You can pretend you have some semblance of humanity, that you ever did in the first place. You can pretend that the past is the past, but look where you are now!” He gestured wildly around them. “You’re still so young, of course you’ll want to believe that you alone will be enough to tip the scales of your own life. But can I tell you a secret?” He leaned in closer to David, so they were sitting face-to-face. “That’s why God took your husband from you, and unleashed you upon me.” Snyder smiled, but it was hollow and numbing, completely empty. “We are _cursed.”_

David glared, letting the words process in his mind, but nodded his head once. “I agree with you.”

Snyder leaned back in surprise, letting out a surprised huff of laughter. “Finally, common ground.”

David continued to stare, wide-eyed, nearly begging. “So step aside, and give me your nephews. All of this will be over.”

Snyder stood up and rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, Jacobs,” he tutted. Then, he got directly in David’s face and jeered, _“The Czernobog._ It was just a fuckin’ car, it was _just_ a fuckin’ dog, just a fuckin’ queer kid!”

“Snyder, your nephews took my entire _life_ away from me,” David slurred. “And you—you treat my husband like a pawn, like he’s an object. He _saved_ me, when I thought I was dead. I finally had motivation to live unapologetically, I had hope that the world wasn’t all a dark place. And your _nephews,_ ” he ground out, “stole him from me, took him from me, they _kidnapped him from me!”_

Snyder rolled his eyes hard, snorting like David was a petulant child and he was an annoyed babysitter. He clenched his fist against his side and held it there, waiting for him to continue.

David spat in front of him, spraying blood on the ground. “You know, people keep asking me if I’m coming back, and I haven’t really had an answer for them. But if that’s what it takes to do what my husband has done for me, to set him free, then _yeah,_ I’m thinking I’m back! So you can either give me your nephews, or you can die screaming alongside them! I swear to God, I’ll—” David stood up in the chair, launching himself at the man. 

Snyder waved a hand, unconcerned. Then, David was slammed back into the chair, and he was suffocating. 

The plastic bag held over his head fogged immediately with terrified huffs of air. David kicked out hard in front of him, knocking over the chair Snyder would've been sitting in. His arms clenched against his back, straining against the men holding him down. He couldn’t _breathe._ The seconds stretched out into years, filled with dread and agony when he tried to suck in air and nothing came. His head cried out in pain, losing precious oxygen, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. He felt like a trapped animal. His chest stretched and cried for air. 

Oh God, he was going to die here, wasn’t he? _Oh Lord my God,_ _let my death be an atonement for my sins, Jack, oh God_ _—_

Bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Medication, gun violence, language, murder, description of corpses, asphyxiation
> 
> The iris flower represents faith, hope, wisdom, admiration and courage. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David has some luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

David thanked God and his own sheer luck when the grip around his shoulders and throat loosened.

The man holding down his right side dropped dead and his hands left David’s neck. The other man was so spooked that his grip slacked and let go all together, backing up in front of David. David took the perfect little window of opportunity by running forward, hands still tied behind his back, and slamming into the man with his upper chest. When the man was down, David was able to loosen the zip ties with his feet just enough to be able to get his hands in front of his body and rip the clear plastic bag off of his head.

 _Fuck._ It was the man who had shot him at The Square, the one who had thrown him over the railing like it was nothing. David plowed through anyway because faltering would do him nothing, would do Jack nothing.

_Stop. Focus._

The man came back at him with a concentrated force, angrily but so very easily controlled. David struggled to knock the gun out of his hand with his wrists still locked together through the thick zip ties, but somehow he successfully did it. They spun around in circles, hands wrapped tightly around each other’s necks, legs occasionally jerking up to land a painful kick to each other's sides. The man yanked at David’s neck, throwing him to the floor on his side, but they wrapped around each other and clambered to back up to their feet.

It felt eerily similar to a dance, something David was very familiar with from his younger years. David found his rhythm for a solid ten seconds before being slammed back into the concrete, knocking the wind out of his chest. The man reached out and grabbed the bag that had once been wrapped around David’s head and this time wrapped it around his neck, and he pulled unrelentingly. David choked on his spit for a fast, faltering moment, and he gritted his teeth before slamming his elbow into the man’s face. He let go instantly, and David ripped off the bag before twisting to get behind the man. 

There was a fast moment of failure where David ended up on his back again, clutching at the man’s hands wrapped around his neck, but he decided to play dirty and kick the man in his manhood. It got him to groan loudly in pain and let up so David was able to get his legs around one side of the man’s neck, push them down, and roll back over so David could get behind the man.

He took his zip tied wrists and pulled back against the man’s throat, effectively strangling him. He jerked and struck David, but as the grip became tighter the less of a struggle he gave. Five, ten, fifteen, nearly twenty seconds and the man’s eyes turned glassy. David jerked his wrists and listened to the quiet _snap_ of the other man’s neck. The job was done.

David wasted no time in rushing forward to the other man lying dead on the ground across the warehouse. He felt in all of his pockets before pulling out a knife and maneuvering it to cut through the zip ties. Then, he grabbed the biggest shotgun he could find laying scattered on the floor and he left the warehouse behind.

* * *

Crutchie packed up his sniper rifle from where he had positioned himself across the warehouse, knowing that he had made the right decision. 

Just one bullet was enough to tip the scales of that moment. A single bullet kept David Jacobs alive. David walked free yet again, somehow managing to keep himself alive despite the odds stacked up against him. Crutchie only hoped that David could keep it that way.

It was a strange circumstance. David had never had to have been saved before, not like _that._ Last night didn’t even count in Crutchie’s eyes, because that was just plain unfair. Anyone would’ve died from that, especially when you are allowed to be unsuspecting in the World, because people just didn’t break the rules. 

There was always the slight possibility that he could’ve gotten out alive anyway in both situations, but with the way things were going both then and now, that would’ve been highly unlikely. Nearing the impossible, which was always a standard David shattered before, but seemed to be faltering in. 

David was so different now. Humanity suited him. If Crutchie were braver, if he were better at his job, he might’ve gone with David five years ago and learned what that humanity was like. Did David participate in politics? In civil rights marches, in voting, for God sakes? Did he get into heated debates with pro-lifers? Did he volunteer at animal shelters or homeless shelters? How far was that humanity supposed to go? Where was the line drawn? Crutchie wouldn’t ever really know. That life was right there, just beyond what he could see. He would never see it, though, it was too late for him.

Crutchie hoped, he _prayed_ that it would all turn out in the end. None of them deserved to hurt like this anymore.

* * *

David sprinted down the walkway, firing at the black SUV that attempted to speed out of the back alley on a street across from the warehouse. The force of the blast knocked the SUV into another car, crashing both of the vehicles into a stop and allowing David precious time to jump up on the hood of the SUV and shoot the driver in the head. Snyder sat in the passenger seat, holding his hands out in front of him, looking more terrified than David had ever seen him before. David jerked the gun to the side and Snyder stepped out of the vehicle, hands still risen. 

David took no hesitation (and just possibly a slight satisfaction) in firing off to the side of Snyder, scaring him thoroughly enough to make him visibly jump.

The sound echoed off the buildings around them. “Shit!” Snyder shouted, clenching his fists hard.

“Where are they, Snyder?” David demanded, eyes sharp and shotgun at the ready. “It’ll be all over if you just tell me where your nephews are.”

Snyder clenched his jaw, weighing his options while staring down the barrel of a shotgun. “Fuck, fine, I’ll tell you! But I have your word, I tell you where they are, you’ll let me walk? You’re a man of your word, Jacobs, are you not?”

David slid off of the hood of the car, not taking his weapon away from the man. He barked, “Open contract?”

"Done,” Snyder nodded. He swallowed heavily as David held the gun closer. “They’re in a safehouse. Brooklyn. 657 Union Place.” Snyder narrowed his eyes. “They know you’re coming.”

“Of course," he nodded courteously. "But it won’t make a difference.” He spun around and left Snyder standing on the street, alone among the wreckage.

* * *

Jack hadn’t seen a single person in what must have been nearing three days, at the very least. 

He predicted it was three days, mostly based on the fact that it had been three times that someone had stood up at the steps and thrown food and canteens of water down before slamming the door shut. The first time it had happened, Jack had been around the corner and only caught the bare glimpse of light before he heard something drop. He had slammed himself into the opposite wall, waiting in fear for a bomb or something of the sort to go off, but it never did. He had cautiously moved over and thanked God when he felt the objects. The other times it had happened, Jack had been half-asleep and didn’t have the strength to acknowledge the person’s presence at the stairs.

The tiny little blessing buried in all of this was that he hadn’t been touched so far. He hadn’t even been looked at, which led him to believe that he wouldn’t be at all. That being said, his chest was permanently sunken with dread for a number of reasons. He knew nothing. On the other hand, he understood that may be very good news. It was too hard to tell.

And he was fucking hungry. He couldn’t survive off of bread and tiny portions of water for much longer. His throat burned badly, and he had quickly learned to quiet down once he realized how little the amounts of water he received were. At least they were giving him what they were.

He was still waiting and hoping, waiting and praying. Praying that nothing would change and, yet, that everything would. And damn it all, he wished that they would just toss a Big Mac down at him one of these times, maybe with a sprite in a water bottle or something. If they could just lodge in a few pieces of ice cube through the narrow bottle top, that would be very considerate of them. He fucking hated McDonald’s sprite, but Jack found that he was missing a lot of things.

* * *

The safehouse looked like a trash pile from where it stood in the city. It was already located in one of the seedier parts of Brooklyn to begin with, but the smashed windows and abandoned façade sold the entire ploy. He would've believed it, if not for the fact that David could see a man playing a video game in one of the windows next to a pale-faced Oscar Delancey.

There were snipers crawling all over the place, none of them hidden very well at all. They were all looking for him. Funny. They hadn’t seen him when he planted the bombs in the cars parked in the parking garage attached to the safehouse, and they weren’t seeing him now.

David plastered himself against the wall, hiding in the shadows, and no one had noticed how he had hauled off one of the smaller snipers on the ground by wrapping an arm around his mouth. It was an easy finish, all he had to do was slit his throat and it was over. He propped him up against the wall and closed the man’s eyelids. He was more a boy, really, with dark hair and dark eyes and a white shirt and striped tie. David suppressed the shiver down his back as he took off the man’s earpiece and placed it in his own, grabbing the sniper rifle and melting back in the shadows again.

He was positioned perfectly in the bottom of the scaffolding across from the safehouse with a perfect view that was accompanied with a perfect shot. He could just inch the rifle right over to Oscar Delancey, kill him instantly. The darker, crueler, god-playing part of him wanted to draw it out and make it so, _so_ painful. 

_“Position 3, check.”_ A hard German voice commanded through the headset he had stolen. It was a perfect shot. He could do it right now. Right now, now, _now. Do it, Dawid!_

 _“Position 3, check in.”_ The voice pressed.

 _“Check,”_ David parroted while imitating a lower, gravelly-sounding voice. Jack would have laughed if he heard how stupid it sounded coming from him.

_Focus, damnit._

Morris Delancey moved into his line of sight. Now he knew they were both there. David knew what he had to do.

He swiveled the barrel of the gun, aimed, and fired at Oscar Delancey, hitting him straight in the head.

* * *

There were gunshots coming from up the stairs. The noise made Jack jump in the air and freeze as still as his body could go. There was yelling. Doors were slammed open from the outside and the muffled sound of screaming rang through his ears.

It sounded like a complete warzone straight upstairs.

_Fuck._

He grabbed the canteen they had thrown down on his first day being locked in (they had quickly switched to water bottles once they realized he could use it as a weapon) and he held it tightly, waiting in fear for an absolution, or maybe for nothing at all. Maybe he would die down here today.

Jesus Christ. He was on death row with no options for a last meal. This was a cruel world.

* * *

David watched as Morris Delancey let out a strangled cry, running to his brother’s side and yelling in horror at the sight of brain matter staining the sofa, but the boy was instantly tackled down by another one of the guards.

David easily picked off the other snipers around the building. This was child’s play to him. He knew this, he had done this before. So many times before. He kept another eye back on the inside of the building, and he saw the guard who had tackled Morris down haul the both of them up and out of the building.

David peeked in through a back door and observed the surviving men sprint back to the cars in the parking garage. He set off the bombs, killing all of them on impact. He tucked himself to the side of the building, waiting as he heard the sound of rapid footsteps pounding down the metal stairs, and as soon as the sound traveled down to concrete he stepped out of the shadows and killed the guard that was still clutching the back of Morris’s shirt. 

Morris wrestled himself free, screaming out and bursting into a sprint between the mobile storage units stacked up on top of each other. There was a moment where he hesitated, unsure of where to run next, and David took the tiny moment to aim and shoot him in the calf. 

Morris fell against one of the storage units, screaming out in pain and clasping a hand around the wound. He looked terrified, but David pressed forward. He lifted the gun, coming to a stop in front of the last remaining brother.

“Where is my husband?” David demanded, then thought over it again. God, he was so cruel. In a softer tone, he comforted, “Morris, I know you’re not like your brother. You didn’t want to do this.” Morris was shaking, looking up at him with a horrified expression, much like a deer caught in headlights. He couldn’t even move. David lowered his gun, sympathy ringing in his voice. “I’m sorry for what I had to do to your brother, I didn’t want to do that, either. You and I, we’re the same, do you understand me?” David kneeled down, widening his eyes. Morris stared back. “Neither of us wanted this life. All of this? I was given a chance to escape it before, and I’m offering you the same in return,” David took a deep, steadying breath. “If you tell me where my husband is, I'll let you go.”

“You’ll let me live?” Morris asked in a hopeful voice. His eyes were like saucers.

David nodded. “I will. You have my word. Please, just tell me where my husband is.” This time, he let the desperation bleed through his voice, staining it a dark red.

Morris nodded. “He’s locked up in the safehouse, in the basement. There’s a door, to the very far right inside, it goes down to the basement.”

“Do you know where the keys are, Morris?” David asked, keeping a level tone in his voice as his mind was telling him _the basement, the basement, now, now._

Morris looked at him, waiting for David to nod, and he reached into his front pocket, keeping his palms open. He fished out a simple brass key, chipped and rusting on the edges. He placed it in the palm of David’s extended hand.

“Thank you, Morris.”

David stood up, key in hand, and he pushed back the bile building in his throat and shot Morris in the head before he could blink again.

_Bang._

* * *

Jack stayed stock still, straight on his feet until the sound of explosions and gunfire petered out. He couldn’t help but be eerily reminded of the Fourth of July celebrations he and David had to suffer through year after year. Those were awful, but whatever just happened was lifetimes worse.

It was quiet. It was way too quiet. Jack sank back down to the ground, still clutching the canteen in his hands, but he let himself relax for precious moments. 

What if no one came back for him? That had to be David out there. It had to be. What if he was—

The lock on the basement door jiggled from the outside. Hope and dread swelled in Jack’s chest. It was still so dark. The door finally slammed open into the concrete wall, the sound going immediately into Jack’s head and rattling around in his brain.

“Jack?” A voice rang through, clear as day and terrified as the darkest night. Jack could only see the familiar outline of the man with the gun held at the ready in front of him through the blinding light, and God, Jack hadn’t seen the light in days. 

Relief crashed over Jack’s body, knocking him over with the force of a wave in a stormy ocean. “Davey!” He cried.

Davey couldn’t have rushed down the stairs fast enough. They collided together roughly, stealing the breath from Jack’s lungs. There were hands in his hair, a head on his shoulder, kisses on his cheeks, hot tears streaking down from the dark eyes in front of him. Eyes that stayed wide open the entire time, arms that pulled him in a grip so close that it was nearly suffocating and turning so he could make sure no one would come down the stairs after them.

“I love you, I love you,” Davey chanted, like all other words had been erased from his vocabulary. He dared to look away from the door, pushed away his lingering fears of failure, and he looked his husband in the eye and kissed him, long and hard, wet and messy and full of tears. Then, in horror, he stopped. “Oh God, did they touch you? Did they hurt you?!” He grabbed Jack’s shoulders and examined every inch of him on his front.

Jack shook his head vehemently. “No, no, I’m okay, they didn’t touch me.” He brought his hands to Davey’s face, brushing a gentle finger over the uneven bump in Davey’s nose. “You came,” he murmured like a prayer. Davey groaned, guttural and low, and he leaned forward, pressing his head into the soft spot on Jack’s stomach. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s waist with a grip like a vice, and Jack could only pet the dark hair and lay kisses down on Davey’s head.

Salty tears of relief stung Jack’s cheeks, and he thanked every single individual deity he knew of that existed in the universe. After his praying got way too complicated and Davey’s tears slowed, Jack leaned forward and murmured, “Come on, this ain’t no place for us. Let’s go home.” 

And Jack helped Davey stand up, took his hand, and let Davey lead them out of the safehouse and into the real world, leaving behind the bloodshed and locking elbows like they were terrified of letting each other go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Gun violence, asphyxiation, murder, language, violence, explosions
> 
> I have to laugh.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David feels guilty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

Jack and Davey walked across Brooklyn to reach the car that was still tucked into a little corner on a side street.

Davey’s perfectly-tailored suit jacket didn’t fit around Jack’s biceps, so they draped the fabric across his shoulders to block out the cold air from his thin t-shirt. He didn’t complain about the sweat lining the inside of it from when Davey was wearing it earlier. On Jack’s feet, he wore a pair of shoes stolen off of one of the bodies littering the safehouse to pair off with the plain blue pyjama pants from three nights ago. It wasn’t ideal at all, but it was better than nothing, and that was all they could ask for.

They reached the Dodge Charger, and Jack hummed. “You got a new car?” He asked, running a hand across the side of it. He was still paranoid, glancing around in the buildings through the cracked windows and musty alleyways. Davey was doing the exact same.

Davey nodded. “Race and Spot gave it to me. I was hoping it would just be a borrowed favor, but…” he trailed off. “The car isn’t what’s important to me.” Davey opened the passenger door for Jack to slide into, and once he was secure he kissed the crown of Jack's head and crossed over to the driver’s seat, whipping out of the side street.

Davey’s eyes still burned as he stared straight ahead onto the road. “We have to go back to the World for a little while.” He hesitated before glancing over to the side where Jack was sitting. “Do you want to see anyone while we’re there?”

Jack froze in his seat. “Just, uh, Medda,” he answered, looking out the window mindlessly. “And Kath, maybe,” he finished. 

David nodded. “Alright. And there’s one more person I need to see on the way home. Then all of this is over.” He sighed heavily. 

“All’a this is over,” Jack repeated. He reached over and clutched Davey’s free hand, squeezing it reassuringly. 

Davey nodded at Hannah as they entered the World, and in return she let a little smile quirk on her face and she clapped her hands quietly. Davey had kept an arm locked around Jack’s waist the entire walk in and didn’t dare to let go until they reached Davey’s hotel room. He locked the door behind him and drew the curtains, making sure all of the windows were locked as well, and he let himself take a breath. Jack sat down exhausted on the bed and David took one look at him before he decided to call up some food while he prepared a bath for them.

Jack scarfed down the gourmet food quickly at first until Davey eased, “Slowly, slowly. I don’t want you to get sick.” Once he slowed, Davey turned the corner back into the bathroom, and he finished the bath while Jack finished his meal. Once he no longer heard the scrape of metal cutlery on china plates, he got up and leaned out of the doorway. Jack was sitting there, eyes blank and staring at the empty plate in front of him. His fist was resting clenched on the table, shaking slightly. 

“Jackie,” Davey called quietly. Jack snapped out of his trance and smiled slowly up at him. 

“Dave,” he sighed out in something similar to relief. Davey nodded and helped him strip out of his clothes, easing him into the bath. Jack looked so pale, paler than he’d been in so long.

There was a long moment of Jack mindlessly rambling on, now that his throat was hydrated and he was able to hold a conversation without choking or being ignored, and Davey knelt by the side of the tub to help scrub him down. 

“You okay in here for a little bit? I’m gonna find some clothes for you.” He waited until Jack nodded before he stood up.

Davey shifted through the closet, reaching for the single outfit he had brought for Jack. It was just a simple, paint-stained tee shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans with a blue button-up to accompany it. It was the first thing he could think to grab, and now Davey was glad he had haphazardly shoved it into his bags three days ago. He laid it out on the bed, setting a pair of shoes next to it as well. He threw out the old pyjamas in the trash, knowing they would not be missed.

Jack continued to talk, even when he couldn’t see Davey. He raised his voice slightly, just enough for Davey to be able to hear him. But when Davey stepped back into the bathroom, Jack’s hand was shaking exactly how it had when he was sitting at the table, and his eyes were wide. His attention snapped straight back to Davey, and he smiled tiredly. Then, “Dave.”

It was like he was convincing himself that Davey was, in fact, still there. The bags under his eyes were so deep. Davey wondered if he was able to get any sleep down in a cold, dark basement with no one else to talk to. It broke his heart.

Davey helped Jack step out of the bath, dry off, and change into his fresh clothes. He regretted not grabbing something more comfortable for him to wear, but everything moved so fast that he was glad he grabbed anything to begin with. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Davey said after he drained the water from the bathtub. “Do you want to stay?” On one hand, he really, _really_ didn’t want to leave Jack alone, but so much ached underneath his dress shirt and he wasn’t sure if even he was ready to see it.

Jack nodded immediately, answering for him. “Yeah,” he said, sitting on the lid of the toilet.

Davey swallowed hard, averting his eyes from Jack’s gaze. Keeping his head down, he started unbuttoning his shirt and became so impatient that he just pulled it over his head. He winced when the stitches tugged. A strange, strangled noise caught in Jack’s throat. He shot up immediately, hovering his hands over the expanse of bruises, then over the stitched spots on his arm and his chest, then his raw, pink wrists, then over the nicks just on the side of his neck where the fabric didn’t protect him from the glass bottle.

“You're hurt, Davey,” his face reddened in anger. “Jesus Christ! Who did this to you?! I swear to God, I’ll—”

“It’s nothing,” Davey tried to ease his worry. “Besides, he’s dead.” The “ _I killed him”_ went unsaid, but Jack understood the dark implication behind the comment.

Jack must’ve seen the look in Davey’s eye. Haunted, uncontrolled. Guilty. But Jack didn’t pull back out of fear, out of anxiousness, out of hearing and knowing that his husband was a mass murderer, an assassin, a fucking vessel of destruction. What he did was raise his hands to Davey’s mostly-unbruised face, looked at him with shimmering, dark brown eyes swimming with tears, and he brought him into the most gentle kiss they’d shared in a long time. Jack pulled back after several seconds, caressing the side of Davey's face. Jack blinked twice hard, then nodded his head as if convincing himself it was okay.

“Right, _angél,_ let’s get you showered.” He said with a shaky voice. Davey blinked the tears out of his own eyes and stripped down, stepping into the shower. Jack sat back down on the toilet, breathing heavily but still unwilling to leave. He glanced over to Davey, clearly conflicted, and about after a minute he picked up Davey’s clothes from off the floor and went out of the bathroom.

About ten minutes later after Davey had finished cleaning up all the blood and grime, he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself, going to exit the bathroom. He froze in the doorway, however, when he saw Jack. He was standing in front of the bed where he had laid out a fresh suit for Davey, the one with the checkered blue shirt that Jack loved on him, and his shoulders were shaking. Jack’s hands were brought up to his face in an attempt to stay quiet. 

Davey’s heart stopped and slowly sank to the floor. For the first time, he wasn’t sure of what to do. Rationally, there were a number of reasons Jack could be crying. Davey could only focus on two. 

One, Jack possibly just now realized fully the kind of man he married, i.e. a ruthless murderer, a man with so much blood on his hands that he’d never be able to keep them clean, and he is regretting it. Two, Jack could have suddenly hated Davey for the kind of life they were going to be forced to live.

Pushing his growing dread to the side, Davey crossed over to him and sat down on the bed in front of him. Not touching, just in case he was right and his terrible, unfathomable suspicions were true, but he made his presence known. Jack sniffled a few more times and rubbed his red eyes, but he looked back at Davey with heartbroken eyes.

“I remember how much I hated seeing you like this,” he finally said, huffing out a hurt laugh. “Bruises where no one could see them, all bloody. That fucking—that _look_ in your eye, it sucked when we were seventeen and it sucks now.” He sighed out a deep breath, rubbing his hands down his face. Something hardened in his eyes, a resolve that wasn’t there before. “You’re teaching me how to use a gun when we get home. Or how to protect myself, or—fuck, anything. I’m not letting you do this alone again.”

Davey shook his head. “No! No, you’re not. This isn’t your world, you shouldn’t have to.”

“Jesus _Fucking_ Christ _,_ Davey, A little fucking training isn’t going to break me! I’m not some damsel in distress. If this shit happens again shouldn’t I be ready for it?!”

“Jack, it won’t—”

“You don’t know if it won’t. I’m not gonna leave you anytime soon, and I’m sure as hell not letting you put yourself in a situation like that again by yourself. Do you understand me?” He was firm, teary eyes fixed hard.

Davey sighed. “I know. Can we...talk about this later? I’d rather not think about that yet.” He let his voice grow quiet, and Jack’s eyes softened and he leaned forward to kiss Davey’s soaked hair. 

“Fine,” he muttered, “but we gotta talk about it then. I’m not pushin’ this off.” He tangled a hand in the curling strands at the base of his neck before he let go, helping Davey put on his suit.

Minutes later, there was a knock on the door. They both froze at the quiet sound, and Davey stood up and grabbed his gun off of the table. Jack stood just next to the bed, let his mind rush for a quick second, then grabbed the knife that laid next to the gun, holding it at his side in a tight grip.

Davey stalked toward the door, gun poised toward the ground in front of him, and he glanced through the peephole, relaxing at the sight on the other side of the door. He looked behind him and gestured for Jack to put the knife down and he pocketed his own gun before opening the door.

“Miss Medda!” Jack laughed, surging forward and crashing into her arms the moment she walked in. She laughed jovially in return, squeezing him tightly around his waist. Katherine stood quietly and watched with a mixed expression. She turned to Davey with knowing eyes, that same sad smile she gave him that night in the bar. 

She didn’t speak, instead laying a sturdy but gentle hand on his shoulder. They both looked back to Jack and Medda, who had both pulled back but were chatting at a mile a minute.

“She had missed him a lot. The both of you, actually,” Katherine finally spoke from next to Davey.

Davey nodded. “We missed her too. And you.”

Katherine smiled. “There’s two more people who miss you more than anything in the world, too,” she said, looking back at him. David stared straight forward, a lump forming in his throat.

“Stop. Kath, please,” he shook his head. Katherine stayed silent after that. Then, Medda turned her attention to him and he strode forward to meet her in a hug. It wasn’t as enthusiastic as hers and Jack’s, but it was warm and comforting.

"I'm glad you're finally safe, David," Medda squeezed him gently, smoothing a hand up and down his back. "Everything's gonna be okay now, you hear me?"

"Yes, Miss Medda," Davey nodded, the hint of a smile tracing on his lips.

“Now, I’d really prefer if we don’t have to see you here again for a long time,” Medda chided. “I know you boys probably have a lot on your minds as it is, asking questions like when you’re gonna have children of your own—”

“Ma,” Jack groaned. 

Medda chuckled, holding her hands out in front of her defensively. “Or if! It’s only natural to think about it once or twice. You don’t _have_ to have children, especially since you’re still so young, but there may be some time in the future when you decide—”

 _“Ma,_ we get it!” Jack laughed. He looked at Davey with a wide grin and squinted eyes, and Medda chuckled. Davey’s heart broke a little more.

“Hey, Kitty,” Jack smiled, bringing his attention to Katherine. 

“Jack, I see you haven’t changed a bit in five years,” Katherine rolled her eyes, putting her hands on her hips.

“What, you still think I’m a loudmouth? I’m crushed, really.”

“You’re always going to be a loudmouth, Mr. Kelly.”

“Actually, it’s Jacobs-Kelly.”

“See? My point.”

“We should be leaving soon,” Davey interjected softly. The smile melted off of Jack’s face, but he nodded grimly.

Medda stepped forward, bringing Jack into a hug one last time and laying a hand on Davey’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “You both are going to protect yourselves out there? And each other?”

“It’s going to be different for you now,” Kath warned.

“We’ll be okay,” Jack promised. He looked to Davey, who kept his head down. “We’re gonna be fine.”

* * *

The World was behind them now, and Davey still had one more thing to do. Davey pulled them over to a set of parallel parking lines on the side of the road, leaned over to kiss Jack, and stepped out of the car. Jack waited inside.

David stood near the bridge outlooking the water, not straying far from the car. He kept his hands in his pockets and watched as the sun lowered itself in the sky. After about fifteen minutes and the sky became a stained pink color, he wasn’t sure if anyone was going to be coming. Nevertheless, he waited. After the time neared twenty minutes and he was about ready to leave, David saw a man moving down the street out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see the same floppy, sandy hair he recognized from years ago. The man was leaning on a pair of forearm crutches with a guitar case slung over his back. He was wearing casual clothing that looked slightly out of place next to David’s formal wear.

It was like the five years had never happened when Crutchie smiled up at him, hazel eyes squinted slightly. He was starting to get laugh lines around his eyes, David offhandedly noticed. 

Crutchie spoke. “Even when we still worked together, I never would’ve imagined me being the one to save you, not the other way around.”

“Thank you, Charlie,” David inclined his head slightly. “But I’m done for good now.”

“Do you remember what you told me when we were fifteen?” Crutchie suddenly asked. When David didn’t answer, he continued. “No matter how many times people said I wouldn’t make it in the business with these crutches and all the other baggage, you said they were all wrong. I would be the best, even, I’d be better than _you_.” He smiled wryly. “Did you know, even back then, that you wanted out?”

“I wasn’t wrong,” David deflected. “You are the best. You’ve always been the best in this business, maybe besides Sarah.”

“I think it’s time for you to think about this a little more clearly,” Crutchie said, turning to look over the water. “You could realize it back in the warehouse; what makes now any different? People want you back. That, or they want you dead. You got yourself a little time, but I don’t know how long it’s gonna last.” 

David only stared down at him with heavy eyes, heart sinking in his chest.

“It’s about time to go home, David,” Crutchie finished. “I'm real sorry about it, too. I’ll see you around.” With that, he passed by David and continued on his way down the sidewalk. 

“Wait!” David called out, internally pinching himself. Crutchie turned around, the slightest hesitation on his face. “Do you need a ride?” He asked, voice catching in his throat. His time was over with Crutchie, but he had forgotten just how much he had made him feel. Guilt settled in his stomach.

Crutchie simply shook his head. “No, my car’s parked up here. I was taking a walk around, I don’t come up to Manhattan all that much anymore, I stay back in the Bronx a lot nowadays.”

“But—”

“I didn’t forget to come here. This wasn’t a coincidence. I remember what it meant to us.” He looked up at the sky, noticing the purple starting to bleed onto the open canvas, and he smiled sadly. “Goodnight, David.”

David watched him go with sad eyes, unsettled emotion stirring in his gut. He swallowed hard before sighing in near exhaustion, clambering back into the car.

“That was...Charlie?” Jack asked. His eyes were wide as he watched him walk off.

Davey rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. That was Charlie.” He took a deep breath before looking over to Jack, who just stared back at him with wide, understanding eyes. He leaned over and brought Jack into another gentle kiss before they took off, heading back upstate, back home.

* * *

Crutchie pulled his car into the space in front of his row house, looking up at the inky black sky. He pulled his crutches out of the passenger seat and opened the door, adjusting them in his grip as he pulled himself up. He opened up his trunk and pulled out his guitar case, adjusting it to his back as he squinted in the darkness, only illuminated by the street lights lining the sidewalk. In all the time that endeavor took, a small group of men gathered around him donning sharp black suits. He looked around himself with building suspicion and dread, and he ignored the men and walked to his front door. Before he could even reach it, the door swung open from the inside to reveal a man standing in the doorway. It was safe to say his heart had stopped functioning properly for about a second.

The man gestured for him to come in, a mocking sneer stretching across his face, and Crutchie complied. The men, at the very least, let him walk into the dining room and place his guitar case down and lay down his watch on the side table. He turned around to face the men. “What is this?” He asked, voice coming out slightly higher than usual.

“Hello, Mr. Morris.” Panic and horror shot up Crutchie’s spine. He turned his head. Snyder was standing in the doorway. “Grab him.”

Suddenly, three men yanked around his arms, and all Crutchie could do was hold onto one of his forearm crutches and try to slam it into the men as a last resort. The fight didn’t last very long when the men cracked him in the head a few times and he dropped his crutches. Before he could fall onto the ground, however, he was hoisted up by his biceps and forced into a chair.

“Do you realize what you have done? Do you realize that you betrayed me, betrayed this _family?”_ Snyder hissed.

Crutchie’s chest heaved as he tried to breathe in. “It was an open contract.”

“Bullshit! You had every goddamn opportunity to kill David Jacobs!” Snyder roared, pressing his fist into a tray of ice to numb it. “And if you did your job, my nephews would still be alive!” He swung his fist back and it collided with Crutchie’s cheek, spraying blood across the table. Crutchie groaned in pain, and he wasn’t even able to catch his breath before he was yanked back upward.

Another man entered the room holding a glass of clear liquid, taken straight from Crutchie’s own liquor cabinet. He was smirking.

“Tommy,” Crutchie blanched.

“Surprise,” the man smirked, setting down the drink on the table. “What goes around comes around,” he said as Snyder took the drink and chugged it.

Snyder turned around, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, and he grabbed a knife from the table. “You know, I always liked you, Charles. You had that strong German blood, despite you being a, uh—” He gestured toward Crutchie’s legs. “Crip, is the word I’d use?” He knelt down in front of Crutchie, knife hovering over the blond’s thigh.

Crutchie’s breath caught in panic and he started to hyperventilate. He couldn't even kick out his legs in protest from how Snyder pushed up against them. His eyes widened in horror. “No, no, _please—”_

Snyder jabbed the knife into Crutchie’s leg, and he screamed out in anguish. Tears of pain sprung into his eyes, blurring out the atmosphere around him. It _burned._

“I was wrong about you,” Snyder muttered, hand still gripping the knife. “And now, you’re gonna die by your own family’s hands, helpless. Just like my fuckin’ nephews were when they died.” He yanked the knife out quickly, sending Crutchie into another string of yelling.

“Not like this,” Crutchie ground out, then he shot his hand out and grabbed one of his crutches. He slammed the brunt into the face of the man standing over his shoulder, catching him off guard quickly enough to grab his gun. He was able to stand up and get perfect shots at the men that held him down, but as soon as he turned he was shot down by Tommy Boy. The bullets pierced his side, knocking him down.

“Like that,” Crutchie said, spitting out a mouthful of blood, and as he tried to sit up again, Snyder grabbed his gun and shot him. One, two, three, four times into his chest. 

David Jacobs, the enigma, was the last thing he could remember as the world fell out from underneath him.

* * *

Somewhere toward the edge of the Bronx when the city started to fade away, Davey’s phone started ringing in his suit pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the caller ID. Strange.

“Who is it?” Jack asked from where his head was pressed up against the window.

“Don’t know. No caller ID,” Davey answered, and he picked up the call. “This is David Jacobs-Kelly.” 

_“Hello, Mr. Jacobs.”_ Snyder’s voice sneered on the other end. _“I just wanted to let you know that I appreciated that you let my nephews have a, hmm. What’s the word? Ah,_ swift _death.”_ That rendered David speechless. _“I wouldn’t know how to respond to that either.”_ The anger built on the other side of the phone. _“I really can’t say I could give that same kind of swiftness to Charles’s end. You were friends, were you not?”_

David slammed on the breaks, then squealed the tires and swerved back into the city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Major character death, murder, language, injuries, symptoms of PTSD, violence, alcohol
> 
> I'm so fucking sorry. You guys called it.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments or come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David gets his revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed in the end notes.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Jack shot up in surprise in the passenger seat, throwing his hands out in front of him as the car lurched. He looked crazed with the bags under his eyes darkening his expression as he turned to fix Davey with the glare. 

Davey gripped the steering wheel like a vice. “Oh God,” was all he could say. “Charlie’s—” His breath caught in his throat. Davey couldn’t finish.

Jack must have understood, because he turned backward in the seat, face pale, and he muttered under his breath, _“Shit.”_

They sped back into the Bronx at illegal speeds, but Davey was no longer paying attention to the speed dial. Instead he clenched his jaw and forced back the building emotion in his chest, focusing on one thing at a time. Crutchie’s house was in the Bronx, he would be close. But Jack—

“Oh, no. No, no, _no,”_ Davey’s hands shook from how hard he was clenching them and he tasted the metallic bite of blood on his lips. 

Jack only looked on in confusion and slight horror. “What’re you gonna do?” His voice lilted in worry.

Davey shook his head. “We’re too far out of Manhattan,” he bit his lip like he hated even admitting it. “You’re gonna have to stay somewhere until I’m done.”

“Where?! Davey, _please_ think about this—”

“Five years isn’t too late to meet the in-laws, is it?” Davey closed his eyes as long as he dared behind the wheel, regretting every single word he spoke.

 _“What?!_ Oh, Jesus, _no,_ just gimme a fuckin’ gun and I’ll wait on the side of the road or somethin’—”

“You don’t even know how to shoot a _‘fuckin’ gun!’”_ Davey mocked Jack’s accent, yelling out in frustration. Then he brought his tone down, breathing deeply to control himself. “Just one night, I’ll come and get you, _I have to do this.”_ His tone was already mournful, gravelly and strangled on every last syllable. “Sarah will protect you. It’s the safest place on Earth for you to be right now.” 

As they pulled over to the side of the road somewhere Jack didn’t recognize, he said, “You forget to mention the other people in there that probably want me dead!” 

“They won’t hurt you,” Davey answered as he clambered out of the car and threw open the trunk. He dug through his bags for a moment, searching with an uptight precision in his sharp eyes, not acknowledging Jack’s presence next to him until he pulled out what he was looking for. He hummed in triumph, taking Jack’s hand and laying the object in it. He closed Jack’s fist around the chain and lifted their hands together, letting the elaborate blue Star of David necklace dangle between them. “Not if you have this.”

The Hebrew inscription was unreadable to Jack, but it was incredibly beautiful, the silver sparkling almost hypnotically under the street lights. He had never seen it before. He pushed back the anger and fear lingering in his chest and gripped the chain like a vice in his fist when Davey let their hands drop. 

He leaned into the searing kiss that Davey left on his lips and he brought his own hands up, knocking the pendant against their cheeks and gripping the other side of Davey’s face with his free hand. “I love you so goddamn much, Davey Jacobs-Kelly.” He lifted his hands higher, bringing them up to Davey’s temples and pulled his head down gently to kiss his forehead. “Promise me you're not gonna forget who you are.”

“I love you too,” Davey blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I won't. I promise.”

The Jagoda Theatre was far from a beacon in the city with its grimy yellow lit-up sign and dark blue decor, far from the traditional royal red theme of most theatres. The entrance was small and the box office was dark, occupied by an older woman that was hard to recognize through the glass. 

Davey rushed Jack over to the box office, not batting an eye when the lady droned in a tasteless voice, “The theatre is closed.” In return, he took Jack’s hand that was wrapped around the chain of the Star of David and brought it up to the glass barrier. The woman glanced at the necklace in slight shock, then finally turned her attention to Jack and then David. Her eyes sparked almost viciously before she sighed heavily and let them in.

The woman pushed the doors to the lobby open for them and they burst into the room, speeding to the table set up in front of the entrance.

“Dawid.” His cousin sat at the long table with her fingers laced in front of her, staring up at him coldly.

“Maja.” David pushed Jack forward with a hand on the small of his back. “Where are my siblings? My husband has to stay here with one of them.”

“Sarah came home last night, Leszek is here as well,” Maja admitted, Polish accent thick and head tilted to the side. “I really wish you never came back.” She grazed her hard, dark eyes over him. She shifted her gaze to Jack and narrowed her eyes. “Pas,” she snapped.

David refrained from rolling his eyes. “You know you _can_ speak English,” he muttered, then turned to Jack. “She told you to take off your belt.” 

Jack looked thoroughly shocked at the request, but did it while never letting go of the Star of David in his hand.

“Aleksy,” David greeted Maja’s fiancé—husband?—as he stepped forward and patted Jack down with an unattached precision, not even bothering to acknowledge David’s presence. Good to know he was still the same heartless creature he had always been. David kept his jaw clenched until Aleksy stepped back from Jack and nodded at Maja.

“There will be nothing but grief for me if I let him in, I hope you know,” Maja snapped, crossing her arms over her chest.

“They won’t have any choice but to let him in with this, and neither do you,” David answered, lifting up Jack’s hand one more time, then turned to face Jack. “Do not put this down no matter what. Put it around your neck, keep it in your hand, it doesn’t matter. Nothing will happen to you as long as you keep this with you.” He glanced at Maja, who nodded gravely. He trusted her enough to keep him safe in the meantime, so he looked back at Jack. “I have to go. I’ll be back to get you soon.” With no other words, he turned and left the theatre, heart pounding in his chest with a sick dread.

* * *

Tommy kept a firm grip on the briefcase he was given, briefly checking his watch as he stepped down the stairs that opened into Bethesda Arcade. He checked his phone again to make sure he was in the right place, glancing at the arches that stretched above him on the way in. He clenched his jaw when he looked at the anonymous identification on the text message, knowing exactly who it was from. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his rosary.

He knew the World rules, he knew what the penalty was for murder within its walls. He also wished that the briefcase he carried was heavier than it was, because then all of it probably would’ve been worth it. But when all was said and done, the Bethesda Arcade wasn’t a bad place to die. It was beautiful, with warm, almost glowing architecture and intricately-designed tile ceilings. He stepped into the center of the arcade and froze when five men stepped up to him from all sides. He glared.

“Look, I know. Can you just get this money to my family once it’s over?” He asked, laying the briefcase down slowly and wrapping the rosary around the handle, staring Joseph Pulitzer in the eye. “And tell my father I’ll see ‘em in hell. You know how it goes.”

“I’ll see what I can do, Thomas,” Pulitzer squinted his eyes, examining his expression with cold precision. Then, a smirk quirked on his lips as he leaned down to grab the briefcase, nodding at the younger man. “Your membership to the World has been revoked by your own hand.”

From all sides, the four men shot Tommy straight in the head and he collapsed to the ground, dead. Pulitzer walked forward, meeting Elmer with a golden coin and passing it to him. Elmer nodded grimly before he led the boys to clean up the body, pocketing the coin.

* * *

David pulled in front of the beautiful row house, the one he was certain belonged to Crutchie. It had been years since he had stepped foot on the property, but he still hadn’t forgotten how intricate the outside was compared to the other houses on the block. This was what Crutchie did with his money.

David’s throat had closed up several minutes ago when he was still in the car, utterly alone yet again. He cursed himself for having to trust his family one last time, and he cursed himself for leaving Jack behind again. He couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the right decision when he slid in through the unlocked front door.

David had to brace himself against a wall when he saw the pair of legs next to a single crutch that laid on the floor. He clamped a hand over his mouth to keep the strangled sound in his throat from coming out. He almost turned back for the door.

Almost. Instead, he gathered the remainder of his wilting courage and stepped forward again, then again, then again until he was staring down at the pair of legs. His breath caught in his throat and he felt a horrible pressure building behind his eyes, so he tried slamming them shut for a moment. When it didn’t work and the haunting silence penetrated his mind, he carried himself with a surge of energy and moved over to the opening of the dining room.

“Oh, _God.”_

Charlie was laid out on the floor. Blood pooled underneath the body. His chest wasn’t moving. David crashed to his knees next to him, and in a moment of desperation he pressed two trembling fingers to Charlie’s neck, praying for a pulse.

Nothing. There was nothing. He grabbed a wrist and felt for one there, but still nothing. _“Charlie.”_ His voice split down the center, cleaved through with a rusty, tarnished axe.

God, he felt sixteen again as he knelt in the puddle of hot, red blood underneath him. He had woken up to that face staring blankly up at him when he was so, so lonely, and it would be so easy to imagine that if he just laid down next to Charlie one more time, everything would go back to normal. He would wake up again and they would go on to their days of endless jobs and too-short nights. He would be alive again. Every single day out of those years crashed down on his shoulders in that moment, and David distantly wondered how many lifetimes he would outlive. 

The axe severed open the front door in David’s chest and all of those years lost flooded out like Pandora’s box, escaping his throat with a terrible, animalistic wail.

Hot guilt seared through him like a jolt of lightning and he wanted everything to _stop._ There was no building crescendo, no audience to criticize his delivery, no reprieve from the violence and the death that he seemed to bathe in endlessly. He felt like a marionette with his strings cut off, limp and loose and weak. The sound in his throat turned to painful wheezing as he tried to lift a hand to close the glassy hazel eyes staring blankly up at him, as he tried to gently shut the mouth that still hung open. David tried not to touch the sandy blond hair, tried to keep his hands from yanking out dark strands of his own hair, and he tried so hard to keep down the grotesque sobs that wouldn’t be silenced.

David sat there for a long time, trying to wish it away, trying to pray until time stopped. He sat on the floor until he felt nothing but hollowness in the cavity of his chest, nothing but rigid air filling his sore lungs in and out, in and out. 

Then his phone rang in his pocket, jolting him out of his stupor, and he took the call with shaking, blood-soaked hands. He did not speak.

 _“Hello, David.”_ Joseph Pulitzer greeted levelly through the phone. _“I’m sure you may be a little confused as to how these tragedies could’ve unfolded.”_ David’s heart dropped in his chest. _“In case you weren’t aware, housekeeping found the body of one Albert DaSilva earlier this morning. We have already punished the offender according to management protocol, but we are just now gathering intel of another incident, which is out of our hands.”_ Albert DaSilva. Dead. He felt sick, so sick. He didn’t know, he didn’t know—

 _“I know, David, we live by a code. The High Table is good, they set our rules, give us a way of life. This is why I am not the one to tell you that a certain helicopter is being fueled at a certain helipad for a certain someone.”_ Pulitzer’s voice paused for affect. _“You’re lucky that there is a very persuasive young woman on your side who did not take kindly to the events of these heinous acts.”_

David stood up from the puddle of blood once the call ended. He crossed the room, bringing himself next to the chair that was pulled out from the table, and he reached down and grabbed the crutch that laid down next to it. He picked it up and brought it back to Charlie, laying it next to him to mirror the way Charlie’s hand had extended to reach his other crutch on the left. The part of the crutch that David had held onto was smeared with blood. David lifted his hands to the collar of his own shirt, tearing the fabric and staining the blue checkered pattern a bright red. 

He pulled out his phone again, hastily pressing in the number. The other line picked up almost immediately.

_“Jacobi’s Restaurant, this is Elmer speaking.”_

“Elmer, this is David. I need a dinner reservation. It’s—Crutchie.”

There was a long pause. _"Jesus Christ.”_

“Please, be as gentle as you can with him.”

 _“God, we will. He_ — _Should I also reserve him for dessert?”_

“Yes. Make the preparations as soon as you can. Can you hold off the service until I can be there?”

_“Of course, Dave. Could you call me when you can come? And I’ll call some of the others to let ‘em know.”_

“Yes, I’ll call you. Thank you.”

David hung up the phone. As a last thought, he cleaned up the blood as best as he could and grabbed a white sheet to place over the body, and he lit a candle and placed it next to Charlie’s head. He closed his eyes, feeling hot rage swell in his chest under the sharp, fresh mourning. He stood up and stiffly left the room, gaining speed until he finally broke into a full sprint to reach his car.

* * *

Snyder sat in the back seat of the SUV as they drove closer to the helipad, raising a cigarette to his lips and puffing out the smoke in plumes. Wiesel sat in the passenger seat with a tight grimace and pinched lips, holding his phone out in front of him in anticipation of any calls. Thunder rolled in the sky above them, lightning crashing down to the earth off in the distance, splitting the air in half in mere seconds and crashing back together. A storm was coming, and it was coming fast. 

Suddenly, the driver glanced into the rear-view mirror and called out, “Who is that behind us?” Everyone turned back, noticing the flash of headlights from behind the second car that trailed them.

“Fuck!” Wiesel let out an angered shout, clenching a fist around his cell phone. Snyder rolled his eyes, almost as if he was unfazed by the news. The passengers watched in horror as the car behind the other SUV sped up and rammed itself into the side of the SUV, knocking it harder and harder until it went over the edge of the fence, dropping what had to be at least thirty feet and smashing the front of the SUV like a tin can. “Goddamn it!” Wiesel yelled out again, turning around in his seat to look at Snyder, who gave him a crazed smile.

The car sped up again, switching sides on the road and ramming into the side of Snyder’s vehicle. “What the fuck is wrong with this guy?!’ Wiesel shouted as Snyder started to laugh. Wiesel continued. “Who’s got a gun? Someone gimme a gun!”

They turned a corner, tires squealing as the car next to them sped up as well, this time knocking them toward the back and sending them spinning into a pillar, crashing the car. Finally, Snyder commanded, “Go kill him!” Everyone in the SUV pushed the doors open, including the man next to Snyder, the driver, and the men in the back of the trunk. The car squealed to a stop in front of them, then shifted to reverse and laid down on the gas. The men shot out the rear windshield in the car, somehow not anticipating the driver to keep going until they were run over, one of the men flying onto the hood of the car only to be shot clear through the top. Then, the driver turned around again and fired through the missing rear windshield, easily landing a shot on one of the other men.

Lightning struck closer to the helipad as David Jacobs drove around in the car and shot people through the driver’s window with dizzying precision, and Snyder laughed before pulling out his own gun. Wiesel still sat in the passenger seat of the SUV in front of him, cussing up a storm until he noticed that Snyder held his gun out for him to take. Snyder kept toying with him by lifting up the gun and pulling on it when he grabbed it. Finally he got it loose from Snyder’s grip and he mumbled under his breath, “Crazy German bastard,” as he climbed out of the car.

David pulled up through an unrecognizable area, glancing one way until someone shot at his door. He whipped his head around, glaring at Wiesel as the man laughed, extending his gun arm again but not quick enough to miss the bullets David shot at his upper thigh. He fell to his knees, shouting in pain, and David laid on the gas and turned the car to slam into Wiesel from the side. Wiesel sunk to the ground from where his upper body had gotten caught in the passenger window of David’s car. 

There was a moment of calm and he heard the pitter-patter of rain splash onto the hood of his car and the windshield before David felt something ram into his side, pushing his car nearer and nearer to the ledge that he had previously rammed the other SUV over. David let go of the steering wheel and shot at Snyder in the driver’s seat of the SUV but was unable to make a clean shot through the bulletproof glass. Instead, he laid the driver's seat down flat and attempt to climb into the back and through his shattered rear windshield. The glass bit into his wrists as he desperately tried to pull himself out under the now pouring rain. He felt his stomach drop as his foot was caught on something inside the car. They were only meters away from the edge now, and he pulled harder and harder to get himself free. 

He kicked his trapped leg back and freed himself from whatever it was that held him in his place, and in the last seconds he had left he threw himself out of the car and crashed onto the pavement. The Dodge Charger was sent over the ledge, and he heard the smash as it hit the ground below them. He gritted his teeth as he tried to push himself off the ground with the air knocked from his lungs. He was soaked from the rain that poured down in torrents. It was suffocating. 

He finally pushed himself off the ground and jumped up with his gun in his hand, glaring into the passenger window of the SUV. It was empty. He checked the entire vehicle, but it seemed as if Snyder was gone. David looked off into the distance, scanning the buildings around him to look for the man. His eyes locked onto Snyder once he stood on the port close to the water, hands held open at his sides. David instantly followed him over, gun twitching in his hand, filled with a desperate need for revenge but there was a colder, darker part of him that wanted to draw it out as long and painful as possible. He could’ve taken a perfect shot.

But he didn’t shoot, not even when he stood in front of Snyder. The older man smiled at him grotesquely. “Put down your gun, David. Just you and me,” Snyder said, keeping his hands still at his sides. 

There was a moment of hesitation before David tossed his gun to the side, holding out his own hands. They circled around each other, Snyder attempting to fake him out with a hiss in his face before trying to strike him in the chest. David stepped forward and threw a fist at him, landing a blow on Snyder’s cheek.

They fought each other in the pouring rain, David attempting to keep a level head as everything in him was chanting, _“kill, kill,_ kill.” They fell into a pattern of punching and blocking until David threw Snyder up against one of the crates and held his forearm against his neck.

“What happened, Jacobs?” Snyder asked, eyes sharp and mouth twisted into a snarl. “We were civilized.”

“Your family hurt mine,” David sneered. “Do I look civilized anymore?!” And he pressed harder, taking his fist and punching Snyder in the face. While the man was still dazed, he grabbed Snyder’s arm and threw him over his shoulder with all the strength he had. 

Snyder held out a hand as he caught his breath and stood up slowly, and David stepped back. There was a moment where they glared at each other in pure hatred, but then Snyder reached back into his pocket.

He saw red when Snyder pulled out a switchblade and held it in front of him. Snyder surged forward, trying to stab the knife into David, but David grabbed onto his hand and held them in place. Snyder took his free hand and punched David in the face several times, the blows going unblocked. A sick idea seeped into David’s mind, and he stared at the knife in horror before pulling it forward and into his own side. 

He screamed in pain, blinking the stars out of his vision and using his new leverage to break the arm Snyder left still holding onto the knife. Snyder echoed David’s own shouting and lashed out on him, backhanding him and sending David whirling to the side. David took his hands and pulled out the knife in his side, eyes crazed and mouth twisted into an animalistic hiss, and he grabbed Snyder’s shoulder and stabbed him in the side of the neck. 

Snyder was able to get one more strike in before they both fell to the ground, David propping himself up on the pipes protruding from the port and Snyder leaning against one of the barricades. There was a moment of silence between them, recognizing all they had lost from each other. The lightning continued to flash over them. David felt a moment of calm rush over him when he levelly brought a hand to cover the wound leaking blood from his side. 

Snyder stared at him with cold eyes, all emotion gone as he bit out, “I'll see you, Jacobs.”

“I’ll see you,” David tilted his head in return. There was no remorse. David clambered up and walked away as the life drained from Snyder’s eyes, never once looking back.

He dragged himself over to the SUV that waited for him by the ledge and he drove it out. Lights danced in his vision, making it hard to see exactly where he was going, but he needed to get somewhere to close the wound in his side. He would bleed out and die if he didn’t, that was all he knew. The part of the city he was in was quiet and very shady, full of buildings with shattered windows and ominously-cracked front doors. The last sign he saw, however, meant hope. He drowsily pulled up to the building, accidentally smashing the front of the SUV into the concrete ramp in front of it. 

He opened the car door and fell out of it, drained of all his energy. He tried to sit up but his body refused. Stars danced in his rapidly narrowing vision, and David pulled out his cracked phone, unlocked it, and went to his photos. He pressed play on the last video.

_Jack looked up once he noticed the camera pointed in his direction. “What’re you doing, Davey?” He asked, eyes crinkling in mirth._

_“Admiring you,” Davey crooned back, voice sickly sweet and full of love. Jack smiled, wrapping a charcoal-covered hand around Davey's neck. They gazed into each other's eyes, mirroring each other with matching looks of pure bliss, and Jack pulled Davey in for a kiss full of teeth and slow jubilation._

David let his head fall onto the pavement, and he let his eyes slip shut in front of the animal shelter.

* * *

David had no idea how long he had been out for, but considering it was still dark out, it hadn’t been for very long.

He thanked God for letting him wake up in the first place and not letting him bleed out and die on the side of the road, and that was enough to get him standing and moving to the door of the animal shelter with a WARNING sign in the front.

He smashed the glass with his elbow, cringing in pain as bits of the glass cut through his suit jacket. He unlocked the door from the inside and threw it open, instantly hearing the barking of dogs as he staggered into the shelter, fumbling with the light switch. The noise grew significantly louder as he stepped into the main room with all the cat and dog kennels and he looked at the wall of veterinarian’s supplies while he sighed in relief.

He searched through all of the vet’s tools before pulling out a container of alcohol and a small package holding a skin stapler. He lifted his shirt and poured the alcohol over the wound on his side, gritting his teeth in pain. Then, he opened the package and reached for the stapler, mentally prepared himself, and stapled the wound closed. He couldn’t help but yelp out loud from the sharp sting it left in his side, and he had to do it three times over until it was finished. He slumped over the counter after he was done, trying to catch his breath as best as he could.

He glanced up at the crying animals, scanning over them before his gaze landed on one in particular. He shakily stood up and passed the other dogs until he stopped in curiosity. 

A giant black cat sat in a kennel meant for a dog, her sheer size the only explanation needed for her being placed in such an area. Her greying face indicated her old age. David looked at the clipboard next to the kennel, reading over the papers. TO BE EUTHANIZED was stamped directly across the front in big, red letters, and David’s heart broke as he looked at the cat. He opened the kennel with no hesitation, holding out a hand for her to sniff. After a long moment of hesitation, the old cat stood up with stiff joints and sniffed at his hand, green eyes wide and scanning this new, blood-covered person out of interest. 

David sat on the floor of the shelter in front of her kennel, talking gently to the cat. “Hello, sweetheart,” he crooned, gently petting her when she opened up to him slightly more. He must’ve sat there for ten, fifteen minutes letting her get used to him until she liked him enough to rub herself against his arm and plop on the floor to let him give her pats. The tension drained from his body as he sat there petting her and listening to her soft purring, and he stood up to find one of the larger transportable kennels for her to stay in. He put treats at the end of the kennel to encourage her to climb in. He glanced at her records one more time, making sure she didn’t have any life-threatening diseases to explain the euthanasia, and sure enough there wasn’t, so he shut her in the kennel and left the shelter. 

“Let’s go home, Pacem,” David soothed, testing out the new name for her. She meowed quietly in response. He smiled gently, feeling a hole in his heart slowly fill back in again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Grief/mourning, graphic description of corpses, language, murder/execution, car crashes, gun violence, injury, violence
> 
> Fun fact: When we adopted my cat, she was put in a dog kennel by the shelter because she was too big for the cat kennels (which are typically smaller) and she would press her face up against the cat kennels so they just moved her into the one she did. She was basically surrounded by dogs. It fits her personality quite well.
> 
> Not so fun fact: Among cats that are euthanized, elderly black cats have the highest numbers because of the stigma surrounding them and the fact that no one wants to adopt them. I feel like David would instantly attach himself to Pacem (meaning "peace" in Latin) because she reminds him of himself, like the way Teddy reminded Jack of himself.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David comes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warnings are listed at the end of the chapter.

Jack stood frozen in front of the table of the people muttering in Polish, his fist clenching tightly around the chain dangling from his hand. He looked back at the doors Davey exited through, trying to quell the unwelcome feeling of panic surging in the pit of his stomach. He breathed deeply and turned around again. 

Davey’s cousin stared at him with an emotion akin to resentment, and she leaned over to the man that had patted him down only a minute before and spoke to him before turning back to Jack and switching to English.

“Come,” Maja commanded. “I’ll take you to my cousins. Don’t touch anything, don’t look at anything, don’t leave my side until we reach them.”

Jack swallowed before nodding and following the surprisingly tall woman into the dark auditorium, where a young boy who stood center on the stage was being tormented by an instructor barking orders at him. Maja led him back behind the stage and through a room with dancers scattered around and stretching while talking in hushed voices. Jack tried not to make eye contact with any of the people in the room, but he could feel the stares cutting through him like knives and on the necklace dangling in his grip. One young boy around the age of thirteen bore a striking resemblance to Davey, and Jack did a double-take before pondering what part of the family tree the boy belonged to. He also listened with the slightest suspicion to a set of boys speaking what sounded like Italian in the corner, laughing at their own secret jokes, and Jack pondered it for a moment before deciding to leave it alone.

Maja paid no attention to the dancers or the weapons that lined the wall next to them and continued down the room, taking a key that hung around her chest and unlocking the door. It was a dizzying experience simply walking through the assortment of rooms and hallways that didn’t end. Then, she led him down a longer hallway and pounded on a door belonging to one of the rooms.

A boy answered the door and Maja left no room for a greeting and went straight into spitting out Polish at a rapid rate. As soon as both he and the boy heard Jack’s name, the boy’s eyes widened in surprise and he turned to Jack.

 _“You’re_ Jack Kelly?” The boy asked in English. “You’re shorter than I expected.” 

_No shit,_ Jack thought, because this boy would’ve even towered over _Davey._ He likely stood at a solid 6’3, but that could’ve been Jack’s imagination overestimating it. He had curly, downy hair a few shades lighter than Davey’s, same with his brown eyes, and his face was slightly rounder and nose more button-like, but the resemblance really lied in their builds. Tall, narrow, the same kind of thin Davey had been when he was eighteen himself. This boy may have been broader in his shoulders than Davey was, but he was still miles of limbs.

It might’ve been a complete coincidence since he was very much standing in a theatre full of people who shared Davey’s genealogy, but Jack was completely sure this had to be Les Jacobs. Tales of his eccentric nature still held true even five years later, since he was the only person in the building wearing a brown denim jacket with a sleek handgun flashing at his hip while still being able to rock the shit-kicking boots. The bowler hat that sat on the crown of his head really tied the outfit ensemble together. He didn’t look like an assassin at all, with the way he was dressed. No one would expect it. Jack assumed that was their plan with him. Some rules had apparently loosened since the last time Davey had come here, because it looked like his little brother was definitely not forced to wear a suit and tie like he had been.

Maja, who continued to stand next to Jack, spat something out to Les in Polish. The boy looked to Jack, then back to Maja and nodded. He moved over to let them in the room and hung off of the doorframe while yelling down the hallway, “SARAH! COMPANY!”

Yes, that was definitely Les Jacobs, in the same way that the woman who came down the hallway and froze at the sight of Jack was most definitely Sarah Jacobs. She dressed more seriously than her younger brother did. Even her brown hair was tied back in a bun, a few stray pieces escaping the knot and curling around her temples. She wore a black dress that came down to her knees with a frilly petticoat underneath it. Jack was less than surprised to see that she exceeded Jack’s own height, even in her flat shoes.

_“You.”_

There was something akin to a predatory tone in her voice, and Jack feared that he was about to become her prey. He lifted the necklace in his hand and placed it around his neck, eyes never leaving Sarah Jacobs. She looked _terrifying_ with her sharp eyeliner and clenched fists, and Jack wondered if it was a mistake to put on the necklace when he noticed the glint in her eyes drastically sharpen at the sight of it.

Then, suddenly, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She relaxed her hands and forced a polite smile, turning to Maja and conversing with her in Polish. She must have not been pleased by the contents of the conversation as her eyelashes fluttered and her jaw tightened in frustration on the inflection of Maja’s voice.

She nodded to Maja, who left without another word to Jack. The door shut behind them with a click.

Jack cleared his throat. “I’m sorry we didn’t give you invitations to the wedding,” he said to try and break the ice.

“You think we didn’t see our brother’s wedding?” Sarah deadpanned.

“Besides, that was more like being eloped with the size of the crowd,” Les added.

An awkward silence hung over their heads, the tension in the room palpable enough to be able to be cut through with a knife. It was a pretty shitty analogy for his current situation, but it was the only one that would fit.

“So, uh,” Les stammered, trying to think up a conversation to fill in the silence. “Does David still take unnaturally long showers?”

Jack huffed out a surprised laugh. “Yeah, he does. Only ever with freezing cold water.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. He steps out with sopping wet hair and refuses to sit down until it’s dry.”

“Now, he’ll read a book standing at the kitchen island until it’s dry.”

“He used to stand in the middle of his room with a book until it was comfortable enough for him to sit back. I guess he’s still the same Day.”

“I guess he is.” Jack agreed.

Sarah watched as the both of them talked back and forth with an unreadable expression. She checked her watch, then she looked back up to Les. 

“Will you be good here?” She asked. Les nodded, and in a swift motion, she took off for the door.

“Wait!” Jack called out. 

Sarah turned around with tension building in her shoulders. “What?” She asked impatiently.

Jack hesitated slightly. “Davey’s told me before that you’re the best with a gun.”

“Second best,” she admitted. “And Les is third best. What about it?”

“Can you teach me how to shoot?”

She stared at him blankly, blinking a few times. “What?” She asked, waiting for him to clarify.

“I never learned before, and if something like—this, happens again, I’m gonna be ready for it.” He ran a hand through his hair, trying to stop the trembling coursing through his body. “Davey doesn’t want to teach me and I need to know so he doesn’t have to worry about rescuing me all the damn time, because I know that’s all he’s gonna be thinkin’ about. So if neither of you will, I’ll find someone in this family that’s willing to teach me.” He lifted up the necklace. “This lets me go anywhere in here, doesn’t it?”

Sarah stared at him in shock, obviously not expecting the answer she was given. “You really care about this that much?”

“Yeah, I do. That wasn’t obvious enough?”

Again, she stared at him. She grazed her eyes over to Les, who was just as shocked as she was. 

Les finally shrugged his arms. “Well, he asked nicely, didn’t he? It’ll make for good family bonding time.”

Sarah sighed. “Fine. And that absolutely does _not_ let you go anywhere in here, so don’t even think about it.”

“I wasn’t gonna. It worked, didn’t it?”

Sarah took the lead down the hallway. “Thank God Ima and Aba are away this weekend,” she said as they passed one of the bedroom doors. The other bedroom across from it sat empty, the door cracked just slightly.

Jack turned to Les as they walked down the hallway. “Why do I have to keep this on?” Jack asked, lifting the Star of David from where it rested on his chest. “Davey told me that no one’ll go after me with it on.”

Les glanced over at it, then pulled out his own from the pocket of his denim jacket. “It’s part of the rules around here. If you have one, you’re considered family. That’s why they had no choice but to let you in. Our parents let David keep his when he left in case he ever needed it, so…” Les ran a finger over the blue enamel, reading over the inscription mindlessly. “It’s a lot of the same with other families. Most have their own rosaries, the Russians, the Irish, the Italians, the Germans… They’re all big, gaudy lookin’ things. You’d know if you saw one. You probably have without even noticing.” 

“Does that mean they won’t let Davey back in without it, since he gave it to me?”

Les hesitated to answer. “I don’t know. There are a lot of people here that are angry at him. Most of us know his fighting patterns too, but he’s still always been the best. I don’t think anyone would attack him unless they knew they had a fighting chance. Depends on the condition of how he returns, I guess.” His eyes got slightly distant. “He really hasn’t changed that much?”

“Not really. He’s still the same nerd, still obsessed with history. He chose the name Teddy Roosevelt for our puppy before…” Jack trailed off. He cleared his aching throat. “But he’s happier. He’s real happy back home now. I don’t know how he was around here, but he’s opened up. He’s not as tired as he used to be.”

“I’m glad,” Les admitted. “He wasn’t happy here. This life was choking him out. He’s not the only one, but…” he pulled off the hat sitting on the crown of his head. “This society’s less than what any of us deserve. Especially him.”

Sarah glanced over her shoulder to them with cold eyes, taking out a key and unlocking the door at the end of the hallway. She shoved it open and stepped inside, instantly going off to the corner to do something.

“Saz usually isn’t like this,” Les told him. “She just...She misses Day a lot. Sorry she’s taking it out on you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Jack said. “Davey’s missed her too. The both of you, really. That’s not something I can really help. I don’t have a sibling, but I can’t even imagine what these past five years have been like for you to be apart from each other.”

Les’s eyes grew sad. “Yeah.”

“I’ve got the first lesson, Les.” Sarah took over as soon as they stepped into the shooting range. Les nodded, taking one last look at the two of them before exiting into the room off the side of the range with a one-way mirror built into the wall.

“Stand in front of one of the lines on the floor. Preferably the center one.” Sarah grabbed a gun off of one of the racks on the wall, easily loading it. “Put on the ear and eye protection on the shelf next to you.” He did, and she did the same, grabbing hers from the shelf next to her.

“Have you ever even held a gun before?” She asked, quirking an eyebrow up when she read the discomfort in Jack’s posture as he stood facing the target. 

“‘Fraid not,” Jack shrugged. 

Sarah sighed heavily. “Alright. I am entrusting you with a loaded weapon in _my_ own house out of the kindness in my heart. Follow every single rule and no one’s gonna get hurt.”

“Got it.”

“This is a semi-automatic pistol. We both will use the same weapon.” She pulled up the skirt of her dress, revealing spandex shorts and a holster with an array of weapons dangling off of it. And _holy shit,_ Jack thought, that was so badass. “It’s what you’re gonna see a lot in this business, simply because it’s easy to carry without drawing a lot of attention. It loads with a magazine in the bottom, right here,” she showed him the magazine, then clicked it back into place. “First, keep the barrel pointed toward the ground if you do not have intention of shooting something. And DO NOT take the safety off until you are ready to fire. Understand?”

“Yep.” 

“You’re right-handed?” She asked, and once he nodded she switched the grip on her gun from the left hand to the right. “Watch me first. You see how I’m standing with my feet apart and my dominant foot forward?” 

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna do the exact same thing later on. But if you’re shooting with one hand,” She took her left hand off of the gun and stood completely open at the side. “You’re gonna stand like this. But we’re not worrying about that now. Watch me fire a few rounds off.”

Sarah steadied herself, closed her left eye, took the safety off and fired the gun, landing one, two, three shots directly into the chest of the target and then one into the head area. 

Jack breathed out heavily.

“Your turn,” Sarah told him. She passed the handgun to him, then stepped back and examined him. “Your posture is horrendous. You’re holding a loaded weapon, not a paintbrush, Mr. Artiste. Your legs will get kicked out if you stand like that. No, don’t lock your knees! That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what did you mean?!”

“Oh, my Go—You need to,” she stepped behind him and hooked a foot around one of his own, sliding it out until his feet were a shoulder-length apart. “Spread out your legs and bend slightly at the knee. Not that much! Just remember not to lock your knees and you’ll be fine. Your legs, specifically your thighs, are some of the strongest muscles in your body. When we talk about body mechanics, we are focusing on things like using the strength in your legs and having good posture. If you lead with your chest or your upper body, you’ll be knocked down right off the bat.” She sighed. “Jesus, you’re terrible.”

“And I’ve never done this before, I think I deserve a bit of credit.”

“I’ll give you credit when credit’s due. The most important thing I can teach you is to tighten your core. That means a gust of wind shouldn’t be able to knock you over, neither should a punch to the gut.” She maneuvered in front of him so she was mirroring his stance. “Breathe in.”

So Jack breathed in, and Sarah shook her head vehemently. “No, don’t breathe with your shoulders. Push your gut forward, that’s where your diaphragm is. Have you ever taken singing lessons?”

“Not since I was a kid, why?”

“It’s the same dynamics, same thing with dance. You have to work your diaphragm to get enough breathing support, which will help strengthen your core. Without a strong core, nothing else’ll matter and you’ll die.”

“Nice.”

“What, do you wanna die?”

“That was a joke.”

“I know. So was mine.” The corner of her lips quirked upwards. “We’re not all as serious as you think. Alright, I want you to try what I just did. You remember everything?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Steady breathing. Fire when you’re ready.”

Breathe in, then out. He squeezed his left eye shut and aimed at the cardboard target. Breathe in, out. He hovered his finger over the trigger and pressed down.

_Bang!_

To his and Sarah’s surprise, the bullet landed directly in the center of the target on the very first shot.

“Alright,” Sarah admitted. “Maybe you’re not as terrible as I thought.”

* * *

David drove the beat-up SUV down the quiet streets in the Bronx, Pacem sitting in the carrier in the passenger seat. He pulled into a parking spot on the side of the road across from the Jagoda Theatre, desperately praying that the beaten-up vehicle wouldn’t attract any attention.

He pulled down the sun visor’s mirror above him and wiped the blood off his face with the sleeve of his jacket, scrubbing at the flecks of dried blood. _Shit._ He realized that he lost all of the belongings he brought with him when the Charger went over the edge. There would be no chance of changing his clothes to cover up the wound on his side. He buttoned up the bloodstained jacket in an attempt to hide it.

“I’ll be back, then you can meet Jack,” he said to Pacem. She didn’t make a sound, but she pressed her cheek up against the bars of the carrier as her acknowledgement.

He took the moments of walking up to the box office window to figure out the best way to hide his limp. The lady at the box office, the same from earlier on in the night, watched him coming the entire way, and David could see through the glass as she made a call. She nodded and hung up the phone, reluctantly letting him into the building.

Maja and Aleksy were still the only two sitting at the table in the lobby. They both stood up to meet him.

Maja glared at him. “You have no rights as a family member once I let you in.” 

“I know. But you’ll let me in anyway.”

“Belt. Off.” She snapped. David removed his belt and turned out his pockets. Maja nodded toward Aleksy and he patted him down, pausing slightly when David flinched at the pressure Aleksy put on his side. The brutish man examined his face while he continued to prod at the area. He unbuttoned the last few buttons on David’s jacket and hiked up the shirt, revealing the garish staples securing the stab wound marring his skin. He moved to put it in Maja’s view, and she—surprisingly—visibly paled.

 _“Put that down!”_ She snapped at her husband. She met David’s eye and hissed, _“If anyone sees that—”_

“They won’t,” David cut her off. “Is that all?” He asked.

Aleksy finished patting down his legs and stepped back, nodding. David cautiously tucked in the shirt before buttoning the jacket as far as it would go. Maja glanced around before motioning at David to follow her into the auditorium. 

On the stage, there was a young girl performing a ballet routine. It was elegant and beautiful, with long limbs and flowing music, but it came to a halt as her fouetté spun out of control and she landed hard on the stage floor.

 _“Again!”_ The instructor snapped. The girl, now hopelessly embarrassed, shot up to her feet and fell into position, head hung low on her shoulders.

_The spotlight shining down on Dawid washed out the audience from his view. He took a deep breath, releasing all of his nerves on the exhale. Plié, tendu. He could do this. It was as easy as firing a gun, as taking down a target._

_The music started, and Dawid jumped into the double cabriole devant, snapping his leg in front of him and kicking the other one to join it, giving it two beats, sliding on the tombé, then the cabriole derrière to the back, this time only one beat. Then the jeté, as easy as breathing. Cabriole devant, sweep arms, then the tour jeté, turn, sweep arms, then the arabesque._

_He steeled his nerves, letting out a puff of air, tightening his core. He turned and jumped into the double tours en l’air, spinning around in a circle with his head snapping around faster and faster. He felt the rush of adrenaline course through his body on the jump, and the daydream ended when he lost his footing on the way down. His left heel landed in an awkward position, causing him to quickly slip down and land on his ass. The breath was knocked out of his lungs and he stilled in pain, legs sprawled out in front of him._

_“Again!” The voice of the instructor snapped from the dark of the theatre. “From the tour jeté. Quickly, now!” She snapped her fingers three times._

_The music restarted, and Dawid fell back into position._

_Tour jeté, turn, sweep arms, jump into the double tours en l’air. Down again. His head hung low in between his shoulders from where he sprawled out on the stage floor. The blue spotlight above his head mocked him._

_“Mr. Higgins, demonstrate for Mr. Jacobs the proper technique, starting from the tour jeté.”_

_A shocked voice rang from the empty chairs of the audience. “Now?”_

_“Yes, Antonio. Now. Quickly, or Mr. DaSilva will present for you!”_

_A voice snorted from the chairs in the audience, “Yeah, Racetrack, better hurry it up!”_

_Their instructor whipped her head around, hairline straining from how tight the bun was secured on the top of her head. “Albert, why don’t you join me at the judges’ table if you can’t learn to control yourself?”_

_The boy shot out of his chair and sauntered over to sit in the chair immediately next to her. The mop of red hair caught under the warm light of the desk lamp, and Dawid watched as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. The instructor sighed, lifting a wrinkled hand to her temple and rubbing it as if trying to stave off a headache. “If your respective families don’t learn how to draw straws for custody over you two as soon as possible, I will do it for them if it means I can have peace once again. It’s a wonder the High Table hasn’t just thrown you two in with the Irish already.”_

_Albert interrupted her again, a smug smirk stretching across his face. “Well, that’s because the Portugese and Italians are stubborn, ma’am. Maybe if you were worse at your job, you wouldn’t have to babysit us and we would’ve gotten shipped over to stay with the Russians!”_

_The instructor clenched her jaw so hard that even Dawid could see the outline of the cartilage in her neck from the stage. “If you don’t stop that commentary now, I will send you to them myself. Even the High Table would not be able to stop me.” She glared straight forward, directing her icy attention to the boy who had taken Dawid’s place in the center of the stage. “Now Mr. Higgins, from the tour jeté into the arabesque, then the double tours en l’air,” she commanded, spinning a finger around while emphasizing ‘double tours en l’air.’ “Don’t disappoint me.”_

“Again!” She shouted, the sound like a whip cracking in the air, and the girl ran her hands over her face before shooting back up into position. David was snapped out of his reverie and shook his head vehemently. Maja led him down the side of the empty audience chairs, and he tried to follow her as silently as possible. 

In what seemed to be slow-motion, the instructor turned her head and made eye contact with him. He saw the disgust grow in her eyes at the very sight of him, shaking her head in disappointment before snapping her head back around and bellowing, _“Milena, ENOUGH!”_ The poor girl jumped in surprise and slammed hard into the floor, heaving out frustrated huffs of air and digging her fingers into the tight strands of hair tied up to form her ballerina bun. David looked down as the girl glanced in his direction and he wordlessly followed Maja into the dancer’s room.

As soon as he stepped into the room, a knife was jabbed just inches away from his face and the world erupted into utter chaos. 

“TRAITOR!” They mocked him, pushing him forward. Maja grabbed his arm and pulled him forward through the chaos. “BLOOD TRAITOR!” A wad of spit flew and landed on his cheek, and he ignored it and held his head high. He couldn’t help the shudder of disgust from crawling down his spine.

 _“Coward! Look me in the eye!”_ That sounded like his nephew’s voice. He kept walking. _“You abandoned us! You abandoned your family!”_

Maja shoved him forward through the doorway and into the hallway, slamming the door behind her. David took deep breaths and tried to stave off the tears springing in his eyes. He wiped the spit off his cheek, nodded, and followed Maja again. He ignored the pity lingering in her eyes.

* * *

“Great shot. Now, maybe we could try with the—” Sarah was cut off by the door slamming open behind them.

Jack jumped slightly next to her, but turned around and sighed in relief. “Davey!” He jumped forward, ripping off the safety equipment and racing over to him. He hovered at the last second. “Are you—”

“I’m okay,” Davey nodded, sighing out and taking Jack into his arms very cautiously. Jack hugged back gently, letting all bad thoughts be expelled from his mind. Something clattered to the floor behind them, and Davey looked up. His heart stopped at the sight. Sarah stood there, equipment scattered around her, and her eyes were huge and almost unbelieving. 

“Saz—” He started, but she just rushed forward and pulled him into a tight hug.

“You’re such an idiot, David,” She muttered, shoving her head into his shoulder, and he sank into her grip. The door leading to the side room creaked open, and _Jesus, it had been five years,_ because Les was _taller than Davey._ Then, his brother was surging forward and Davey’s and Sarah’s arms opened to make room for him.

The three siblings clung to each other for what felt like hours, rocking back and forth slightly and taking in each other’s presence. They eventually broke their grip on one another and took a few steps back, Les gravitating to Sarah’s side.

“I can’t believe it,” Davey laughed. “I can’t believe you’re so big now. And _Sarah—”_

“We know,” she said. “You’re actually smiling.”

“You’re happy?” Les asked, and with that, the last ninety-six hours crashed down on his shoulders again.

He sighed, eyes heavy. “The last few days have been...A struggle, more or less,” he admitted. “But I’m happy. I have a life, I didn’t think it was possible, honestly. And you’re happy here?”

Sarah’s eyes grew fond. “I’ve got my own life in here, too. Kath…I don’t think I could give this up. It’s a good thing.”

“Les?” Davey asked.

“Yeah, I think I’m happy. Ima and Aba loosened up after you left, I didn’t even have to take dance lessons.” He shuddered. “I mean, it’s a shitty job, but it’s a job. I got friends.”

Davey couldn’t deny them that. Neither of them drowned as easily as he had in this life, neither of them had caved under the pressure of the next job, then the next job, and neither of them had been given an all-powerful, horror-invoking name given at thirteen. If they were happy, he was happy for them. But that wasn’t him anymore.

“We should get you out the back way,” Maja suggested from the doorway, where she had stood through the entire interaction. “The sun’s going to rise soon.” Just like that, they were out of time.

Davey nodded, but paused. “Could I talk to Sarah alone?” He asked.

Maja checked her watch. “Quickly.” He took Sarah’s hand and brought her into the side room, shutting the door behind them.

For a moment, they stood in silence, just staring at each other’s changed faces. Sarah brought a hand up to David’s cracked nose, running a finger over the bump. Then her eyes trailed over and noticed the posture in his side. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re hurt.” She unbuttoned his jacket, then pulled up the shirt. She snapped her gaze back up.

“Fucking _staples?”_ She cursed. “Are you stupid?! Neshama, if this gets infected—”

“I’ll go to a hospital once I’m home.”

“Not my point. Why the _hell_ didn’t you just let us stitch it up here?”

“You know what they would’ve done to me if I showed up with a bleeding side. I probably wouldn’t have made it out in the first place. I don’t need help. That’s just another thing I would owe the family.”

Sarah scoffed. “Owe _us?_ David, you’re already in debt. You left this life behind and Sullivan left you alone, even with your blood on that marker. You remember that deal. You owe _him._ What’s going to happen once he hears that you’re back?” She gripped his forearms, jostling him slightly. “Do you think he’s gonna let you go this time without making you do what he wants? Rumors have already spread about Jack. Other families are starting to know the truth. What do you think Sullivan’s gonna do to you? Or _Jack?_ It was so obvious he’d never even held a gun, never mind learned to shoot one before. He learned quickly and he’s an amazing shot, but it’s not gonna be enough to keep Sullivan away.”

“It will. Stop, Sarah, it will. I can—”

“You can’t. I’m sorry, neshama, you _can’t.”_ She shook her head, eyes sparkling with tears. “You can’t take on the whole world. I know, and I’m sorry this life is so cruel to you, but you’re gonna have to come home sooner or later.”

“I’m going _home,_ neshama. My home.”

Sarah sighed heavily. “So it’ll be later, then,” she said, hanging her head low. “I love you. I just want to see you safe.” She grabbed David’s hands, squeezing tightly. 

“I love you too.” He let her bring him into a hug, and he squeezed back just as tightly. There was a knock at the door. They stepped out, and David was pulled into a hug by Les. 

“You gotta go now,” he said. “Please, don’t be a stranger for much longer. I love you.”

David looked at Sarah, then back at Les. “I love you too. Stay out of too much trouble, alright?”

Maja led them outside, and Davey and Jack left out the back door of the Jagoda Theatre and onto the rain-soaked streets of the Bronx. 

“Oh, there’s something I didn’t tell you about,” Davey mentioned as they walked toward the nearly-totaled SUV. 

“Babe, I don’t think I even wanna know,” Jack shook his head. A smile quirked on Davey’s face as he opened the passenger door. Jack gasped obnoxiously. “David Jacobs-Kelly, you _did not_ steal a cat.”

David's lips quirked up at the sides. “Her name’s Pacem.”

“Bastard.”

Jack took over the driver’s seat, and Davey sat in the passenger seat with Pacem in his lap. They drove into the sunrise. Jack pulled down the sun visor to block the bright light of day from impairing his vision.

Davey closed his eyes, breathed in, and looked over to his husband. He ran his hand over the side of Jack’s arm, then he stuck a hand to the side of the carrier, feeling Pacem sniff around his hand and press her scratchy fur into his palm. 

“We’re going home,” he said.

“We’re going home, Dave,” Jack parroted, glancing over at him with bright eyes.

They were going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning(s): Guns, slight violence, language, injury
> 
> The ballet routine Dawid performs is [Albrecht's Variation](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpxkSX4WxR4) from Giselle. There is a hidden meaning: If you are not familiar with Giselle, the character Albrecht is dancing to save his life from the Willis. I worked very hard on that specific scene and basically had to analyze choreography that I haven't practiced in a good several years. So please say that was your favorite scene or I will cry.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around for the end! Honestly, I was not expecting the amazing feedback that this story has received. I was expecting possibly my mutuals to read the first chapter and then that was it, but the fact that it has grown to this scale is completely beyond me. 
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of the first installment of Czernobog and perhaps what you think is going to happen in the sequel! If you are on tumblr, I would really appreciate it if you could reblog the post I have pinned at the top of my blog @thetruthabouttheboy for Czernobog, or you can even shoot me a message on there letting me know what you thought! Thank you so much!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Please let me know what you think in the comments or feel free to come yell at me on tumblr @thetruthabouttheboy or my main @querxes!


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